Watch the World Burn: The Lost Chapters
by thebookworm214
Summary: If you liked the first one, you'll LOVE this. Jim and Seb are back with missing stories from Watch the World Burn. M for everything: language, violence, suicidal thoughts, torture, male snogging, and of course, m/m and slash. Read and review and share with your friends!
1. Chapter 1

_**After having so much fun with our MorMor story, ladycorvidae and I decided to write up the "lost chapters," bits and pieces that would fit in nicely with the original story but that hadn't occurred to us when initially writing OR that were requested by the readers. So, let's start at the beginning, shall we?**_

Chapter 1: New Job

"Another round," the blonde man grumbled, tapping the bar next to his empty glass and glaring at the bartender as he tried to talk him out of his fourth Scotch in twenty minutes. One steely look from him and the barkeep sighed, pouring him the alcohol.

"Drinking to forget, I see. Well, at the rate you're going, it'll be less of 'forgetting' and more of 'cirrhosis of the liver'. And death, while it makes one forget everything, is rather too permanent for my taste. Afghanistan or Iraq?" said a short, dark-haired man in an impeccable suit, his Irish lilt soft and somehow vaguely threatening; he had been watching the man drink at the bar for the past twenty minutes.

The blonde didn't even bother looking at him, throwing back the drink as soon as the glass was full. "What's it t'you?" he growled, slamming the glass back down on the bar. "Can I get another one?"

The shorter man shot a look at the barkeep who quickly found the glass he was drying the most interesting thing in the world. "Because, Colonel Sebastian Moran, best sniper in Her Majesty's Army, I have use of you. A job, as it were. Or several jobs if we're going to be honest here."

Slowly, the taller, muscled blonde looked over at the unassuming dark-haired pipsqueak. "Something you wanna say to me, twerp?"

"Several things, in fact. You were born to a good family, walked out when you were sixteen after the death of your mother, spent your life in the gutters, homeless, until you joined the army. Did a few tours, either Afghanistan or Iraq. Done tiger hunting..._poaching_, actually, in India. Steady hand, straight aim, completely impersonal when you're shooting. Always get your man in one shot. Currently, you seem intent upon ruining your talent by finding solace in the bottom of a bottle. And we can't have that, now can we?" the man said, lips quirking up into a smile that was neither friendly nor amused. The color slowly drained from the sniper's face to hear his life story coming easily from the mouth of the man in front of him. "How the fuck do you know that? You look me up or somethin?"

He snorted. "Hardly. I merely...observed. Jim Moriarty...hi."

Seb's eyes widened slightly. "Oh."

"I take it you've heard of me, then?"

"Anyone who's anyone with dealings in illegal stuff has heard of you." Seb was trying to sit up a little straighter, suddenly very aware of his stench and his filth; the gutter wasn't exactly the most sanitary of places to live. Jim grinned like a shark. "Good. Now, Colonel, you have two choices. One: you come to work for me as my sniper and general hit-man. The job pays well, and there are several...benefits to be had. Two: I walk out of this bar and leave you to drink yourself to death, dying in the gutter, choked on your own vomit. Choose swiftly."

"Why in blazes would you want me for your stupid, posh job?" Even though the man unnerved him, Sebastian Moran was fairly buzzed if not already drunk and really couldn't care less what the man thought, even if he did claim to be _the_ Jim-fucking-Moriarty.

"Because, as I said, you were the best in Her Majesty's Army. And I take nothing but the best. A bit of a perfectionist, me. And really, if I want to watch the world burn, then I need all the fire starters I can get my greedy little hands on."

Seb snorted. "Watch the world burn? I may have heard of you, Mr. Moriarty, but in person, you really aren't all that frightening." The blonde was slightly flattered to hear himself called the best, nothing wrong with a little ego-stroking, but everyone had different stories and descriptions of the famous man. The ex-soldier doubted a criminal mastermind would really waste his time on a dishonorable discharge from HMA who was gradually putting himself into liver failure.

Slowly, Jim took an elegant switchblade out of his pocket, flicking it open and cleaning his nails with it. Then, fast as a striking snake, he sank the blade up to the hilt in Sebastian Moran's left leg; he grabbed the taller man by the collar. "Not so scary, am I? Oh, Colonel, you have underestimated me. A dangerous, dangerous thing to do. If you keep running your mouth like that, I can have your hide as a rug to decorate my living room floor. And I would, if I didn't need your expertise," he hissed into his ear.

Reflexes dulled by the alcohol, Seb wasn't able to grab Jim's wrist in time before his leg was on fire with pain. He hissed, groaning softly as a cold sheen of sweat painted his forehead and neck. "All right then," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Made your-point. Can I take-your knife-out of-my flesh-now?"

"Oh, have you learned your _lesson_, then?" Jim asked, twisting the blade. Seb clenched his fist, swallowing a scream of pain. "You...fucker-"

"Ah, ah, _ah_, Sebby, shouldn't talk to your Boss like that," Jim crooned, twisting the knife a little more.

"S-stop...p-please..."

"Ohhh, fine," he said, pouting, removing the blade from the sniper's leg and wiping it on Seb's shirt. "So...now that you are under my employment, there are a few ground rules that I have. One: You shall follow orders. ANY order I give. Even if it's to take your own life. Two: If you are captured, you are, under no circumstances, to say that you work for me. Three: You shall address me as 'Sir' or 'Boss'. Is. That. Clear?"

Seb bit his tongue until it bled, tearing a strip of cloth from the hem of his shirt and tying it around the wound in his leg. He almost made a quip about not being in Moriarty's pocket but thought better of it, swallowing his remarks for the first time in his life. "Yes..._sir_."

"Good. Glad that we have that understanding," Jim said, smiling like a shark, dark eyes ablaze. "Now, Sebby...time to come home."

The sniper's eyes darkened. "Don't call me-"

"Oh? What was that? Contradicting me?"

He shook his head, swallowing and wincing as he stood, his leg burning but he'd had much worse. "No."

"Good." And with that, James Moriarty led his newest pet away.

oOoOo

Seb sat uncomfortably in Jim's very posh black car, eyeing the man across from him nervously as his soldier sense struggled to break through his Scotch-induced haze.

"I'll give you the tour of the apartment when you've slept this off," Jim said. "And when you've bathed yourself. You stink," he continued, wrinkling his nose at the scent of body odor, dirt, vomit, and Scotch that emanated from his newest hire.

"Sorry. Gutter rats don't usually have first pick of which sewer to sleep in."

Jim scowled and punched the wound on Seb's leg. "You've forgotten rule number three," he said, his voice soft and dangerous.

Seb shuddered with pain. "Sorry, _s-sir_," he gasped.

"Much better," Jim said, settling back into the plush interior of the car, pleased with himself. They made their way to his flat, leading the sniper up to the penthouse suite. "Your room is down the hall, second to the left. Bathroom is right next to it."

Seb nodded. "Thank you...sir," he muttered, limping to the bathroom. He stripped and climbed into the shower, the water cleansing him of a month's worth of grime and gunk. His hair damp and clean and his wound rinsed out, he toweled dry and headed to his room to find pajama bottoms and a first aid kit laid out on his bed.

"Good night, Sebby," Jim sang from down the hall as he heard the door to the sniper's bedroom close. He grinned. _Oh, this was going to be just too much fun._

Seb jumped; he hadn't even heard Jim's feet. "Night, sir," he called back, bandaging his leg properly before climbing into bed; he was asleep in seconds.

oOoOo

The next morning, Jim was up with the sun and in his trademark suit. He wandered down the hallway and pounded loudly on the sniper's doorway. "Up, up, up!" he shouted, not caring that Seb probably had a hangover. He giggled as he heard the curses through the door.

"Motherfuckingsonofabitch," Seb groaned, hands pressed to his temples. "Are you always this pleasant in the morning...Sir?"

"Oh, of course! Up with the birds, me," he said, purposely making his voice too loud.

"SHUTUP!" Seb roared back, wincing as his voice echoed in his head.

"Oooh, temper, _temper,_" he said, voice now edging back into that dangerous territory. "I expect you dressed and ready in the sitting room in three minutes, Sebby. DON'T make me wait."

Seb rolled out of bed, dressing in the black clothes he found in the dresser...they all fit. Perfectly. As if they'd been tailored for him. More than a little disconcerted, he went out to the sitting room, still limping slightly on his injured leg that refused to bear his full weight just yet.

Jim was sitting down, idly looking at a pocket watch as Seb walked into the room. "Three minutes exactly...good thing that you've retained your military promptness," he said, standing and tucking the watch back into his pocket. "Now, a brief tour of the flat; bathroom you've already seen. This is the sitting room (obviously), leads into the kitchen. Feel free to use it at your leisure. Clean up after yourself; I abhor dirty dishes being left around. This is _not_ a bachelor's bed-sit...this is where I hold meetings and plan, this is where you live. The entertainment room and den are down the second hallway; interrogation room is at the end of that. Weight room is across the hall from the entertainment room. Library next to the weight room. My study is next to the library. Any questions?" He finished as they ended back in the kitchen, Jim leaning against one of the counters.

Seb bit back a dozen, most of which would get him stabbed or worse. "What exactly is it that you expect of me, Boss?"

"As I said to you last night in your drunken stupor: to follow orders. If I need someone taken down, I will give you the time and location. You are expected to do the job and remain unseen. And know this: if you fail me, for any reason at all, I will make the torture chambers of Kabul look like a _nursery_ to you," he hissed.

Seb was getting fed up with this scrawny little criminal telling him what to do. Throwing caution to the winds and not really thinking clearly through his hangover, "Well then _sir_," he hissed, leaning in close to Moriarty. "Bring. It. _On_."

"Oh, a poor, poor choice in words," Jim said, faking sadness. He jabbed his elbow into Seb's solar plexus and hit the pressure point on his shoulder, driving him to his knees. He fisted a hand into Seb's hair and pulled back, making him look up at him. "Now, my lovely new _toy_, you'd best keep a civil tongue in your head, or else you'll suffer consequences more dire than this," he purred, tracing his fingers around the blonde man's mouth. Seb couldn't breathe, he heard his knees connect with the linoleum floor and his scalp ached where Jim yanked his hair. "L-like-what, sir?" he gasped, eyes crossing as he tried to watch Jim's fingers. _The hell were they doing on his mouth?_

"Oh, you _really_ don't want to know. But I hear sulfuric acid and fire are very painful," he said, leaning in close to his ear, dropping his voice down to a husky whisper. Seb twisted in Jim's grip. "All-all right. Boss."

"Good. Glad we understand each other," he said, nipping Seb's earlobe before releasing him and moving back, casually straightening his suit and brushing imaginary lint off the cuffs. Seb sat down hard, fingers coming up to brush his ear. He stared up at the man, wondering just what it was he saw him as.

"And to answer your question; I see you as my sniper, bodyguard, and plaything. Meaning I can, and will, do _whatever_ I _want_ with you," Jim drawled. "And the position you're in right now is a good one; looking up to me."

Seb lip twitched; he hadn't spoken aloud...must've been written all over his face. "So, I'm just your trained piece of ass, _sir_?"

"Oh, Sebby, you're so much _more_ than that. But you'll have to earn it. So, for now, yes, you are."

The twitch twisted his mouth into a feral snarl. "I'm not something you can just have-"

"Oh, I think you'll find that you are," Jim said, walking a bit closer, his voice still soft and dangerous, staring straight into the sniper's eyes.

"No, I'm _not_..._sir._"

"Sebby, Sebby, Sebby...you still need to learn your _place_," Jim said, his mouth a hairsbreadth away. He saw the taller man unconsciously lean toward him, and he turned and walked away, lips curled into a smirk. Without thinking, Seb stuck his leg out, tripping Jim as the sniper stood. "Don't you walk away from me, _sir._"

Jim got up, his eyes blazing. "That was _most_ unwise, Colonel Moran," he said. He kicked the injured leg, forcing the man to his knees again before grabbing him by the hair and banging his face into the stone countertop. He slipped his switchblade from an inside pocket on his jacket and flicked it open, holding it against the sniper's throat. "What. Have. I. Said?" he growled, teeth bared.

_Now _they were talking. "That I should obey orders, _sir_," Seb growled, twisting out of Jim's grip and wrenching the smaller man's arm behind his back, forcing him into the counter and the knife from his hand. Jim hooked his leg around Seb's and pulled, forcing the taller man both off-balance and to let go, adding another elbow to the solar plexus to drive the wind out of him. He threw his fist into Seb's jaw and wound his fingers into his hair once more, marching him over to the gas burners of the stove. He flicked one on and held Seb's face dangerously near it. "_Exactly_." Jim hissed.

Seb fought, struggling to get away from the flame. "N-no...Boss...don't-"

Jim forced the man's face closer, allowing him to feel the heat, hear the flames hiss as his sweat dripped into them. "And why shouldn't I? You clearly aren't one to _listen_, so I should reinforce my lessons with some _pain_. After all, you're more likely to remember it that way," he said, grinning, a mad gleam coming into his eyes that looked hellish, reflecting the flames on the burner.

"I'm sorry!" Seb never apologized and meant it, but his face was about to become something out of Raiders of the Lost Ark. "I-I'm sorry, Boss. I understand now."

"Good," Jim purred, turning off the burner and bending down to put his face near the sniper's. "And since Sebby's learned his lesson, he deserves to be rewarded." He kissed the sniper, tongues and teeth colliding, giving his lower lip a rough bite before breaking away, looking mightily pleased with himself. Seb was shocked, gaping at the criminal as he pulled back. "You-you just-"

"Yesss?" he purred, smirking.

_Motherfuckingsonofabitch._ "Kissed me."

"Your grasp of the obvious is most entertaining," Jim said.

"Shut up. Sir."

Jim moved his head to one side in an almost reptilian fashion. "Hmmm? What was that?"

"I can't win. That's it," Seb muttered under his breath, making to stand up.

"Exactly right. Well done," Jim said, catching what he had muttered with his sharp ears. Seb looked at him, almost afraid, wishing for everything in the world that he weren't the best. Jim cupped Seb's face in one hand, running his thumb over the sniper's lower lip. "Awww, what's that face for? Don't worry, Sebby dear. Such _fun_ we'll have together," he said, grinning.

Not for the first time, the sniper wondered if he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

_**While in this particular Sherlock universe Sebastian won't get his Tiger nickname for another few years, we loved the idea of him getting Tiger stripes.**_

Chapter 2: Stripes

Jim checked his mobile and scowled. His latest target was a crafty one, one that was paranoid and difficult to work around; the bastard had to _go_. Now he had to find a sniper to do the job...his scowl vanished, replaced by a smirk. Sniper. Of course. Time to break Colonel Moran into his job.

_Sebby- hit for you, 438 Walcott St. Do not disappoint me. -JM_

Seb jumped as his mobile went off, scrambling up as he read the text.

_Don't-oh, never mind. Fine. On my way. Anything particular you want? -SM_

Jim thought briefly, then grinned.

_Eyes removed. Then a simple execution-style to the back of the head. 'This is what happens to spies' written in target's blood on the wall. That should do it. -JM_

_Shouldn't have to remind you to wear gloves. -JM_

Seb's lip curled in spite of himself, the smirk vanishing as soon as he got Jim's follow-up text.

_What do you think I am? A fucking moron? Consider it done. -SM_

_Boss. -SM_

Jim actually chuckled_._

_Not a moron, no, but you're a bit...rusty. It would be a shame to have to go looking for another sniper so quickly. -JM_

_I may be rusty, but I remember how to be stealthy. I'll be back before an hour has passed. -SM_

_Good. Aim true, Sniper. -JM_

_Of course I will. -SM_

Jim sat back in the black leather wingback chair behind his desk. Now all there was to do was wait.

oOoOo

Seb got there easily enough, sneaking in the back door to the house without getting caught; the lock was child's play. The mark was something else, and _damn_ was the man fast. They grappled for several minutes before Seb was able to knock him out and carve out his eyes, dropping them in a bag to bring back to his employer. He set the mark in a chair and shot him in the head before taking a gloved finger and writing the desired message on the wall. Satisfied, he checked his watch...and cursed. He had ten minutes to get back!

Jim checked the clock. Sebby now had eight minutes to return.

_Tick tock, Sebby, tick tock. -JM_

_Shut the fuck up, sir. -SM_

Seb was sitting impatiently in a cab that was, as his luck would have it, stuck in traffic. He was still a good ten blocks from the flat.

_Traffic is a bitch. Leg it. -JM_

_You think I didn't figure that out? -SM_

_Wanted to be sure that you hadn't pickled your brain with all that Scotch. -JM_

_You make one more crack about my drinking and I'll kill you. -SM_

_Really, now? Not a good way to end your first hit, threatening your employer. And this is now twice that you have forgotten rule number three. -JM_

_Well, punish me when I get to your office. Made it. Two minutes to spare. -SM_

Jim frowned at the text. _Oh, Colonel Moran, how much you still need to_ _learn,_ he thought. This lack of respect and base fear would simply not do, not at all. He banked the coals in the office fireplace and stuck a hunting knife in them, leaving the hilt sticking out. "And that makes three," he called as he heard the door to the flat close. "Office. Now."

Seb swaggered in, depositing the bag of eyeballs on Jim's desk. "Taken care of, sir. Just as you asked."

Jim's expression remained stony. "Shirt off. Kneel on the rug. Hands behind your head," he instructed, voice clipped.

Seb's grin faltered. "But-"

"What did I say, Moran?" Jim hissed, his eyes narrowed into slits.

"Kn-kneel, sir," Seb murmured, taking off his shirt and dropping to the rug, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Jim smiled, a thin, poisonous gesture. He removed the knife from the fire, handling it gingerly and admiring the now red-hot blade. "You seem to be in the habit of forgetting the rules," he said, walking behind Sebastian so that he couldn't see him but could feel his presence, feel the heat radiating from the knife. "I will assure that you will _remember_ it," he said, laying the edge of the blade on the sniper's ribcage on the right side, pressing a long line of fire and steel into his skin.

Seb chomped down on his lip, splitting it and dripping blood down his chin. He swallowed his moan of pain and fought the wave of nausea at smelling his own flesh burn

"Oh, before I forget," Jim said, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and shoving it into the blonde man's mouth. "So you don't swallow your tongue or bite through it. Now where would the _fun_ be in that?" Another line, right below the first. "You'll _remember_ the rules now, won't you?" A third line below that.

The sniper nearly gagged on the handkerchief, tasting blood hot in his mouth as his eyes watered in pain. He nodded to show he understood, praying that it would all be over soon. The wounds didn't even have time to bleed; the heat from the blade cauterized them too quickly.

"Good," his Boss crooned. Then his face hardened again. "Now that the rules are taken care of, know that I demand _respect_-" here he moved around Sebastian, pressing a first line down his left side. "-that I will not be _bullied_-" a second line "-and that, while you are the best, you are also _replaceable_. I can settle for lesser sons of greater sires." A third and final line before he buried the blade in the floor, hissing and smoking as the metal cooled. "Get out."

It took everything Sebastian had not to collapse on the floor. Taking his shirt, he removed the stained handkerchief from his mouth to say, "Thank you, sir," before stumbling from the room, heading straight for the shower. He needed to get cold water on the burns. Jim watched as his new pet left, haggard and pale from the pain. He smiled...then he chuckled. Then he laughed, a full, drawn-out laugh, head tossed back, the noise following Sebastian as he made his way down the hall.

The sound of Jim Moriarty laughing would haunt Seb's nightmares for several months following, the deranged cackle echoing in his brain as he stepped into an ice cold shower, howling in pain as the water slid over his freshly marked skin.

oOoOo

Nearly two weeks had gone by, two weeks of Seb tiptoeing around Jim, and the criminal, quite frankly, was getting tired of it. "So, Sebby...how are you?" he purred one day, when it was impossible for Seb to avoid him.

The sniper jumped, just barely catching his bowl of cereal as it slipped from his fingers. "G-good, Boss."

Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. "Honestly, you act like I'm going to eat you. I'm _not_. And your little...punishment was only because you kept forgetting the rules. I know it won't happen again. So _relax_," he said, drawing out the last word and stretching languidly. Seb nodded, clutching the bowl tightly in his hands as he tried very hard not to gobble it down and run.

The criminal sauntered over and draped his arms around the assassin's neck, chest resting against his back and letting his hands come to rest at his sternum. He could feel the larger man tense and his heart speed up. "_Relax_, " Jim repeated, voice softer, resting his chin on Seb's shoulder. The sniper swallowed hard, his body heating up. He took a deep breath and exhaled, letting the tension drain from him, a necessary talent in order to be a top notch assassin.

"Much better," Jim purred, nuzzling into Seb's neck. "I'm not _always_ the frightening man...I can be quite reasonable and gentle."

Seb bit his lip, swallowing a quip. "I can see that, sir."

"Ooooh, he _can_ learn!" Jim said, smiling. "So _proud_ of you, Sebby. And yes, yes, I know, scowl, 'don't call me that.' Well tough. I WILL call you that. At least it's nothing stupid like 'Colonel Mustard' or something of that ilk."

The sniper's lip twitched. "Would that make you Professor Plum, Boss?"

Jim laughed, a genuine one this time. He buried his face deeper into Seb's neck. "Oh, I should think so. Cleverest lot in 'Cluedo'."

"I'm sure you always win, Boss."

"Naturally."

Setting down the bowl, Seb hesitantly brought his own hands up to Jim's, caressing them ever so slightly. "Hmmm..."

"Thoughts, Sebby?"

"No, not really Boss. Just, you know..."

"Not a psychic. Indulge me."

"You're a very confusing man. One minute I'm in trouble and getting my arse handed to me, and the next you're almost...cuddly, Boss."

Jim snickered. "That's just it. I'm sooooooooo _changeable_. Keeps everyone on their toes." He grinned and pressed a kiss to Seb's neck.

Seb stiffened slightly at the gesture before slowly turning in Jim's arms to face the smaller man. "Any reason for that, Boss? Or you just felt like it." He still hadn't forgotten the kiss at the stove two weeks before.

Jim thought for a moment. "A bit of both...the reason being that you just smell delicious," he said, smirking.

"Now that could be considered harassment, sir."

Jim snorted. "Like you'd care."

"I could if I want to, sir."

Jim pulled back, his eyes searching Seb's. "Could you?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"If I could use it to my advantage, then yes. I would care, Boss."

"Silly Seb...caring is not an advantage. But I guess I could let it slide," he drawled, letting the distance close between them, resting his mouth on Seb's before moving his lips against the sniper's, coaxing a response from him.

Seb closed his eyes, very hesitantly kissing back. The last thing he wanted to do was piss off the Boss. Jim gently nibbled on Seb's lower lip. He needed to go easy on his sniper for now; he had given him a bit more of a fright than he had intended with his punishment earlier.

Seb moaned softly, his hands wrapping gently around Jim as he kissed him back, flicking his tongue out of his mouth and running it along Jim's lips. Jim opened his mouth and twined his tongue with Seb's, purring into his touch. The sniper whimpered softly, trying to break the kiss for air, but Jim was having none of it.

Jim deepened the kiss, exploring the confines of Seb's mouth, stroking his upper palate and the inside of his lips, threading his fingers through the blonde hair and tugging lightly. Seb squeaked as Jim's grip in his hair tugged him down lower, the taller man snaking his arms around Jim's waist and yanking him closer in response, pressing them together.

Jim smiled and sent a rumbling growl of approval; oh yes. This was _exactly_ what he wanted-what he needed- and it was glorious. He pressed closer to Seb, winding his arms around his neck and rocking his hips gently.

Seb yanked his head back, breaking the kiss and gasping for air, staring wide eyed down at the consulting criminal. Jim's mouth, lips kiss-stung, curled into a smile. "Shall we continue?" he murmured, arching an eyebrow.

Seb gaped at him. "I-you-are-is this-"

"Words, Sebby. Use complete sentences."

Seb snarled. "Fuck you, sir."

Jim laughed. "You'll find that _I_ do the fucking around here. But if you've been a _particularly_ good boy..." he snaked his hand down to the crotch of Seb's jeans and squeezed the bulge there, gently, "I may just let you do that."

Seb keened, his knees buckling. "P-please...Boss."

"Hm? Please _what_?"

"More." Seb couldn't believe himself, begging for a hand job like he was a horny teenager.

Jim's lips curled wickedly into a smile. "Ohh...I suppose I can," he said, drawing his finger along Seb's still-clothed length. Deftly unbuttoning and unzipping the sniper's trousers, he slid a hand into his pants and palmed Seb's length. _It was impressive_, he'd give him that, as he felt both the assassin and himself twitch.

Taking hold of the counter, Seb managed to stay up, moaning loudly as Jim touched him. "Oh god yes, Boss. Oh yes, please move, _please._"

Swiftly undoing his own trousers, Jim started stroking the both of them in a slow, steady rhythm, pausing to squeeze firmly now and again.

Seb's mouth was watering, his breathing growing heavy and ragged. "You're-fucking-amazing," he whispered. It had been ages since he'd gotten off like this, preferring to pick up women at bars or men in the alleyways.

Jim smiled lazily and began moving faster, rocking his hips against Seb's, enjoying the feeling of the hot length in his hand and against his crotch. The sniper bucked back against him, moving as much as he could and desperate for more friction. His hands working quicker now, Jim felt his breath leaving him in gasps as he felt himself rocketing closer to the edge of that precipice.

"Please...make me-_ungh_-come for-y-y-you, B-boss," Seb pleaded.

"With _pleasure_," Jim hissed/growled, the desperation in Seb's voice sending him over the edge. He came, his strokes nearly fast enough to cause friction burns as he worked Seb over with him.

"Yes-fuck-OHGODYESBOSS!" Seb yelled, spilling over Jim's hand as his whole body shuddered, almost collapsing to the floor.

Jim purred and sighed as they both came down from their sexual high. He gently cleaned them both up with a washrag before tucking them both back into their respective trousers.

Seb took in deep gulps of air, watching the criminal work. "So...that just happened."

"Yes, yes it did," said Jim, satisfied with both Seb and himself.

"So, my other job is to help-ah-fulfill your...um...needs, Boss?"

"I like to think of it as a mutual..._coming_ to terms," he said, smiling at his own bad joke.

Seb closed his eyes in exasperation. "Okay then."

Jim leaned in and claimed the sniper's mouth again, hotter than the first time, more teeth and tongue and a harsher edge to the kiss. Seb inhaled sharply through his nose, growing bold and taking Jim's face in his hands, working to get an upper hand in the kiss

Jim wound his fingers through Seb's hair and _yanked_, forcing his head back. "Remember..._I_ do the fucking," he said, voice soft and dangerous as he trailed kisses along the assassin's jaw line.

Seb whimpered, trembling under Jim's grip. "Y-yes, sir."

From the jaw line down to the throat now, little bites interspersed with the kisses, lavishing them with his tongue. "Good," he purred before going back up and kissing him on the mouth once more; a reward for good behavior.

Seb let Jim kiss him before the man pulled away. "Are you...satisfied with me, sir?"

Jim smiled. "Yes...for now."

That made Seb uneasy. "All-all right then. Well, uh, call if you need anything then? Sir?"

The consulting criminal affectionately nuzzled into Seb's neck. "Always, Sebby," he said.

_**Read and respond as always. More fun times to come...including more from "The Great Game."**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**We loved the idea of Jim branding Sebby in some way when feeling particularly jealous or possessive. This is what we came up with...plus some nice, violent, murderous Jim and good m/m smut times. Enjoy!**_

Chapter 3: Brand

Jim walked into the flat, rolling his neck and shrugging his shoulders. It had been a long several weeks; too many things to count had been going on. Huge things, things that all swung into his favor. He was now cemented as _the_ crime lord of London, possibly the entire UK. He had now set his sights on conquering Europe as a whole, and Asia as well, but for now, a well-deserved rest was needed. But something caught his attention: an unfamiliar scent. Woman's perfume. Cloying, overly-applied. A prostitute. And then he heard the noises, muffled cries of pleasure coming from down the hallway. His lips curled into a snarl. Oh, naughty, _naughty_ Sebastian. Jim wasn't just displeased...he was _livid_. He strode to the assassin's door and kicked it open.

Seb had the woman bent over his bed and was driving into her as hard as he could when he thought the door exploded. Startled, he slipped out only to see the source...one very angry, very dangerous criminal mastermind. The sniper had the fleeting thought that he'd be very lucky to live through the next few minutes

"You never said anything about having a friend over," the whore said, pouting. "Gonna cost extra if you-" she was cut off by Jim coming over and sliding his favorite switchblade from his pocket, flicking it open, pulling her head back by the hair and slitting her throat from ear to ear. Hot blood showered over Seb in quick arcs as her heart frantically pumped its last, before slowing to a trickle. "What. The Fuck. Do You Think. You Are Doing?" Jim hissed at the assassin, tossing the corpse of the woman aside like she was a bit of refuse. His voice was perfectly level and even, and his gaze was unwavering which was when he was the most unnerving.

Seb gaped at him, the blood quickly drying on his skin. "I-I-" he swallowed before drawing himself up to his full height. "I was getting off with her, Boss."

Jim quickly flicked his eyes over Seb's naked form. If the situation were different, the sight of his assassin, aroused and covered in blood, would have had him on the other man like flies on carrion inside of three seconds. But this was not the time for lust. This was the time for anger and punishment. "In _MY_ flat?" he said, his voice now even softer. "Follow me."

Obediently, Seb followed Jim from the sniper's room. "Yes, in your flat, since you've decided to not even pay me one iota of attention for TWO MONTHS after wanking me in the kitchen, _sir_," he snarled under his breath

Jim cocked his head at this, indicating that he had heard, but didn't turn. He led Seb into his office where he took off his signet ring, a magpie with wings spread in flight, and an electronic cigarette lighter. He started up the lighter and set the ring, face-down, atop of it. "I have been working for the past two months keeping myself and _you_ alive. Not to mention strengthening my growing empire. And I come back to this," he said, his voice still even. This was Jim at his deadliest. He never raised his voice, indeed, he was nearly speaking in a monotone. But one look into those eyes and you could tell that all Hell was about to break loose.

Seb eyed him warily, the burns on his ribs aching in sympathy for wherever his Boss was going to stick that thing...he just hoped it wouldn't be on or around his manhood or he'd be in seriously deep shit.

"Ssssssssssit," he hissed, eyes narrowed into slits.

Seb fumbled for the chair in front of Jim's desk, lowering himself onto the firm, cold wood. His soldier's training kicked in, and he didn't tremble; he just waited for Jim to make his move, mentally preparing himself for how much it was about to hurt. Jim took his ring, the magpie now glowing hot, and knelt in front of Seb. He held his gaze for a long moment before he picked up the sniper's left foot and, straight on the underside of the arch, he drove the searing metal into the flesh.

Seb didn't realize his palms were bleeding until he saw the red dripping down his legs; he'd dug his fingernails into them but was unable to stop the scream, nostrils flaring at the smell of his own burning flesh. His forehead broke out in a cold sheen of sweat as he stared down at the insane man at his feet; what was left of his hard on from before quickly wilted. He might be a masochist, but not for this.

"And now you'll know to _never_ bring filth like that into our home again," Jim said softly.

He shook his head. "N-no sir," he whimpered, shoving back tears of pain; he would _not_ be beaten like this.

"Y-yes sir," Seb whispered, limping unsteadily from the room and down the hall to the bathroom, sitting in the shower to avoid putting pressure on his foot. It wasn't until he was heading back to his room that he remembered the corpse of the hooker on his bed. "Fuck..."

"Last room down the hallway on the left," Jim called from the end of the hallway, loosening his tie. He waited until Seb's back was turned to give that wide, merciless shark's grin. The sniper had never noticed that spare bedroom, a nice pale blue he noted before crawling into the bed, still swallowing his tears from the pain of the brand.

Jim waited for about five minutes, giving Seb the chance to rest a bit before he strode into the room, bottle of lube in hand, clearly visible. The sniper automatically glanced over when he heard the door, noting the bottle in Jim's hand and, unable to help it, shying away.

"Oh, now, now, now, Sebby. Where's that _friendly_ side you showed earlier?" he said, grinning, unable to help himself as he set the lube down and began to strip.

"Gone when you branded me and definitely gone now that I'm stuck in this bed." _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_

"Oh? Maybe I can help with that," Jim said, purposely brushing a finger along the new brand, digging the nail into it. The assassin had forgotten the third rule once more.

Seb screeched, his foot lashing out. "THAT HURTS, BOSS!"

"Of course it does, you fucking _moron_," he hissed. He removed his hand, though, and started trailing it up Seb's leg. His touch was feather-light, and he ghosted it over the larger man's sex, stroking it gently.

"What. The fuck. Are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Jim purred as he stroked a little more firmly and squeezed a bit harder. Seb whimpered as blood flowed south, unable to think through the haze slowly settling over his mind. He never _had_ finished getting off before. "Sick fucker," he muttered.

Jim giggled, his face pleased as Seb's cock responded to his touch. He could feel his own member stirring, twitching to life. he sped his strokes and moved one hand to cup himself.

"Not fair," Seb hissed, reaching out, but the smaller man smacked his hand away. "Ah-ah-ah...looking, but _no_ touching," he admonished.

The sniper's lip curled in a snarl, defiantly reaching, his hand shooting out faster than before only to have Jim squeeze Seb's cock harder, almost to the point of pain, to send a warning. He dropped his hand, biting his lip until it bled. "Hate you," he spat

"'Course you do," the criminal said, grinning, relaxing his hold. He gave Sebby a few more strokes before he lubed up his fingers and Seb's entrance, slowly easing a finger inside of the assassin. Seb groaned, shoving his head back into the pillows; it had been a very, very long time since anyone had stuck something in him there.

Pleased at the sniper's reaction, Jim added a second finger, scissoring them gently, curling them towards him.

"OHGODFUCKINGHELL"

Jim's grin, if at all possible, grew wider. He drove his fingers slightly deeper until he felt them brush something (he very well knew what) and prodded at it gently.

"!"

He tsk'ed. "Language," he scolded, before slowly sliding his fingers out, rolling a condom over his own length and lubing it up more in preparation. He could tell that it had been quite a long time since anything had been in Seb's arse, and he didn't want to hurt him. _Well, more than necessary, at least._

"The fuck do you care about my language?" Seb growled, his face contorted in a mixture of pain and desire. Jim said nothing but pressed the tip of his cock into the man below him, sweat beading on his brow as he felt the tightness envelope him. It took a considerable amount of willpower for him not to go fast and sheath himself all the way into Seb in one harsh thrust.

The sniper's eyes were wide and staring, his body perfectly still as he willed himself to relax, remembering how much it hurt to stay tense. He was waiting for Jim to snap and show him who the Boss was, Seb's face changing to one of horror as he replayed his words of the past ten minutes, realizing how many times he'd forgotten to address the man properly. Oh, he was in for orgasm denial for sure now. The consulting criminal bent his head and drew his tongue in a trail from Seb's abdomen to his sternum, punctuating the last with a scrape of teeth and a swift, sharp bite. He began, slowly, to move.

He couldn't help it, couldn't help himself. Seb drove himself down on the cock up his arse, desperate for anything now that this was finally happening. The man was being so fucking ridiculous, teasing him like this, drawing it out. Jim bit down harder, a brief punishment. If it was at all possible, he slowed more, making his movements nearly stop.

"P-please...sir..."

"Please _what_?"

"Please fuck me, sir."

"Oh, I don't know," Jim said, pretending to be indecisive, keeping up his slow, slow pace.

"I'm begging here, Boss."

"And I'm still _thinking_."

"What could you possibly be thinking about at a time like this, sir?"

"Whether I should fuck you or if I should just leave you here, after tying your hands to the headboard so you can't get yourself off."

Seb's eyes widened at the prospect, shaking his head. "Please..."

"Please leave you here? Never took you as _that_ much of a glutton for punishment, Sebby..."

"NO!" The word burst from his mouth. "Please don't do that."

"No and please don't do that _what_?"

"Sir."

"Much better," Jim crooned, finally speeding up, his own eyes nearly rolling back into his head.

It didn't take long for Seb to start writhing underneath the man, his hands fisting in the sheets instead of stroking himself which was what he wanted to be doing. After a minute or two, Jim finally took a small amount of pity on his assassin and stroked his length as he pounded into him, a teasing touch from base to tip.

"Ohmygodboss," Seb whimpered, bucking up into the touch.

He chuckled and started touching him a little harder, slowing his thrusts again as he increased the pressure.

"You...are...fucking...ridiculous...Boss." Seb really had had his fill with the teasing.

"Of course I am," Jim purred as he sped his thrusts once more, in time with the stroking of the assassin's cock. _Finally_ they were getting somewhere. "Yes...oh God yess...almost there, Boss...please..."

As Jim felt both Seb and himself nearing the glorious edge, he leaned down and hissed into Seb's ear "Remember who owns you. Remember who's giving you this. Remember that you are _mine_."

"Yessir...you own me...Boss you OWN ME!" Seb cried, coming hard all over Jim's fist, his back arching as the bed creaked loudly, headboard slamming against the wall

Jim came with a cry and a groan at Sebby's shout. He shuddered and pulsed as he felt the assassin contract around him. "Mmmmm, yessss..." he groaned, pulling slowly out of Seb before disposing of the condom.

Seb sunk into the bed, pleasure overwhelming the pain from before. "Holding out...on me...Boss," he whispered, eyes drooping

"Obviously. Can't lay all the cards on the table at once," he smirked, feeling sleep come to him as well.

"You're still...a fucking...sonofabitch...sir."

"Oh, I know."

_**So there you have their first official time shagging. XD. Straight up fluff and things coming in the next chapter before the **__**true**__** drama resumes. Read and review!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Fluff abounds here. We were feeling particularly fluffy and decided to pass o the difference to you. This chapter still takes place prior to the events of 'Watch the World Burn.'**_

Chapter 4: Medallion

Seb dropped his bag on the floor in the training room before collapsing on the sofa in front of the telly, flipping channels as he unwound from the hit. He'd been on surveillance all day and his entire body ached with stiffness. Jim sauntered in and saw Sebby sitting on the couch. "Status report?" he asked.

"Target snooped on, acquired, and exterminated, Boss." Seb fished a bag from his pocket and tossed it to the man. "For your collection, sir."

He examined the grisly prize that his sniper had brought him. Another set of eyes. "Excellent. This target had heterochromia, a wonderful wildcard of genetics," he mused, looking at the different-colored irises; one blue, one brown. He went and put them in their own jar of preservative fluid before washing his hands and returning to the couch, sitting next to Seb.

"Something you need, Boss?" the sniper asked, finally settling on the first Alien film; they were running a marathon of horror films on cable.

"Can't I just enjoy the pleasure of your company now and again?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He noted how stiffly Seb was holding himself and prodded one shoulder, digging into the corded muscle there. Almost against his better judgment, Seb started purring. "_Fuck_ that feels good, Boss."

Jim grinned and brought both hands to Seb's shoulders, kneading hard. "Aw, my poor Sebby... all worked up in knots," he said, chuckling.

The man's hands felt like magic. Seb turned so that his back was to the criminal keeping one eye half focused on the telly as the alien exploded from its egg and latched on to one of the astronaut's faces. The smaller man worked his hands down Seb's back, keeping firm pressure as he travelled lower. He could hear the sniper almost literally purring under his touch, and it made him feel...warm inside. Affectionate? He mentally scoffed. He was James Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime, the Consulting Criminal. He didn't do affection. But still. There was a comfort and an ease to this...a domesticity. It was strange, but it was pleasant.

"How the hell are you perfect at everything, Boss," Seb murmured, stretching his back out completely the lower Jim went.

"Natural talent," he said, smirking, even though Seb couldn't see him.

"Natural talent for everything? I dunno Boss, sounds a bit pretentious of you," the sniper teased.

"Fine. I'll stop and take my pretentious self elsewhere," Jim teased right back, stilling his hands.

"No! Sorry, I was...enjoying it, Boss."

"All right, keep calm," he said, resuming his movements, adding more pressure and working back up on either side of Seb's spine.

Seb relaxed again, reveling in how content he was to have his Boss do this, at how comfortable he felt around the man and, to a certain extent, how much he trusted him now. Jim kneaded the back of Seb's neck and worked over his shoulders, down his arms, to his wrists, hands and fingers. He took his time, paying extra special attention to the skilled hands that were the sniper's trade.

The way Jim was working on his hands was almost orgasmic, Seb thought, rolling his neck and chuckling as the alien burst through the dude's chest. "That's fucking awesome."

His lips curled into a smile as he watched the creature tear itself out of its human incubator. "I concur; both to the movie and to my skills," he said smugly, working his way up to Seb's neck again to bury his fingers in his hair and massage his scalp. Seb couldn't help himself. He slid down on the sofa until his head was in Jim's lap and he was looking up at his Boss. "I'll make it easier for you, sir," he whispered.

Jim swallowed and continued. There was that warm feeling welling up again, this time with a vengeance and a power that nearly startled him. He finished his massage and just ran his fingers through Seb's hair for a while, watching the movie and idly petting him, like the sniper was a great cat. Seb had never been this relaxed watching a horror film in his life, but he wasn't even all that scared, intrigued was probably a better word. He found himself idly wishing this happened more often, even nuzzling up into Jim's touch if he stopped his ministrations.

"D'you know what day it is?" Jim murmured to Seb, chuckling softly as the larger man nudged his head into his hand in order to keep his movements going.

"No clue, Boss," Seb purred, chuckling as two more crewmembers were eaten.

Jim used his free hand to fish a small wrapped package out of the pocket of his suit jacket. "Open it. A...token of my appreciation for all your fine work. And to answer the question, it has been 18 months to the day that you began working for me."

Seb took the parcel, raising an eyebrow at Jim. "Are you giving me an anniversary present?" he teased.

"You could call it that," Jim said.

Chuckling, Seb opened it...and the sound died in his throat. "Oh my fucking god," he breathed.

"I thought you might like it," the criminal said, grinning, pleased with himself as the sniper gaped at the gift. A finely hammered medallion, with his sigil on it- a magpie, wings outstretched. On the back was engraved a quote from Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_, "Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war."

"Why would you do this for _me_, sir?"

"Because you're..." _What? Special? 'Don't make me laugh,' _scoffed Jim internally, but that was what he had come up with. "Because you're special," he finally said, being unable, for once, to find a more appropriate word. "I have never known a man the likes of you before."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were sweet on me, Boss."

"And if I were?" he challenged.

"I-I don't know what I'd do, actually. I think you've caught me off guard, sir." And it was true. Seb had never considered his feelings for Jim beyond forced respect that had eventually become true respect.

"Well, there we are, then," Jim said. "I'd have no idea what I'd do either."

Seb fastened the medallion around his neck, the metal cold on his skin as it dropped just below his shirt. "Thank you, Boss."

He smiled, the possessive part of him growling in a pleased fashion. "You're welcome. Now give us a kiss."

"I'm a bit stuck. Can't you give me one for a change, Boss?"

"Oh, fine," he huffed in a mock-annoyed fashion, bending and pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to the sniper's mouth. Seb had the fleeting though that he'd like nothing better than to kiss Jim upside down for the rest of his life.

He straightened with a sigh, after a quick nip to Seb's bottom lip, resuming carding his fingers through the sniper's hair. "Oh, the stupid bitch didn't get eaten. Well, I knew she wouldn't, but still. Disappointing."

"There are three other films in the series, Boss. They need something to tie them together."

"Yes, each more mundane and predictable than the last. But I like these...what d'you call them...xenomorphs? I want one."

"You do realize even you would get eaten, don't you Boss?"

"Not if I raised it right," he argued.

"Boss, you can be so ignorant sometimes."

"What? It'd be perfect! An excellent asset to my empire. And I would use it to kill the competition. Literally. Although, I still consider you my personal best asset," he continued, leering and cheekily squeezing Seb's arse.

Seb smacked the hand away playfully. "Prat."

"You know you like it."

"Maybe."

Jim chuckled and bent down for another kiss, this one with more fire than the first. Seb inhaled deeply through his nose, their tongues dancing easily as the next film started; they don't even notice.

He wound his other hand through Seb's hair, holding him in place, tugging slightly as their tongues twined. Jim purred into the kiss; he really did love how Seb tasted. The sniper moved his head gently, testing Jim's grip and smirking at the restricted movement of his head. Always in control, that was Jim. He traveled downwards, pressing soft kisses along Seb's jaw line and then his throat, laving the pulse-point on his neck with his tongue before giving it a quick, stinging bite.

"Boss!" Seb whimpered, his own hands trying to touch the man's face. Jim allowed Seb to touch him; he was feeling generous today. "Hmm?" he hummed, not taking his lips from Seb's skin.

"Mark me, sir," Seb whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

Jim growled, pleased with Seb's request. He sucked and bit at the skin, worrying it gently between his teeth and soothing it with his tongue. He paused every once in a while to press more kisses around the area, stopping only when he saw that there was a deep, blood red mark blossoming on the sniper's neck. He smiled into Seb's skin, pleased with his handiwork.

The sniper was drooling so much he could barely talk, his mouth slick with spit and his fingers tingling. Jim trailed his mouth down even further, pausing to nip at Seb's collarbones. He could see a bulge forming in the sniper's pants and smirked, removing one hand from Seb's hair to caress it.

Seb whined, rocking up into the touch. He hadn't planned on this, but it could be nice. He'd just have to clamp down on the words floating through his head, dangerous words. He'd never considered love as an option when dealing with the criminal, and he'd be damned if he started now.

He opened Seb's trousers and slid his hand under them, cupping the hot skin there, wrapping his fingers around the sniper's prodigious length and squeezing gently.

"Y-yesss...oh please, Boss."

Jim began a slow rhythm, stroking up and down Seb's cock before speeding up, interspersed with firm squeezes from time to time, kissing the skin of the assassin's chest and neck. He'd come upwards occasionally to claim Seb's mouth as well, brief, hot kisses with dueling tongues and open-mouthed breathing.

He'd never been taken apart like this, their encounters always tangled and hot and fast, claiming each other. he secretly like Jim's dominating nature, how the man could make him feel alive and amazing. The smaller man could feel Seb winding up for the finish, and he slowed his movements, stopping the inevitable torrent of swears that would spill from Seb's mouth with his tongue.

Seb nearly bit his tongue off. "W-why-are-you-slowing-down, s-sir?"

"Because I can...and I love to watch you writhe underneath my touch," Jim purred.

"Y-you-sick-f-fucker-"

"Awww, sticks and stones, Sebby," he said, squeezing again and speeding his strokes just slightly.

"I'm-close-" he whimpered, the stimulation still not quite enough

Jim smiled as the sniper whimpered. He sped up more. "Cum for me," he whispered into Seb's ear, before nipping his earlobe. With a cry, Seb came, Jim's voice more than he could handle in his state. His body shuddered with the after effects as he gasped for breath. Jim chuckled and purred as he withdrew his hand, wiping it on Seb's trousers.

"Oh come _on_," Seb groaned, another perfectly comfortable pair of trousers covered in mess

"What? Your mess, your pants," Jim said.

"You started it"

"And you..._finished_ it," he said, smirking.

The sniper's lip twisted in a snarl. "One of these days, it'll be _you_ cumming for _me_."

Jim raised a brow. "Really," he drawled.

"Really," Seb challenged

Jim kissed him again, biting harder than usual. "Challenge accepted. And this," he bit down hard again, "is for _forgetting_ rule number three. You're so bad at this..."

The sniper hissed. "_Sorry_, sir."

"Apology accepted. Now go clean yourself up. I had massage jets installed in the shower while you were out. I'll keep your spot warm for you," he said. Seb got up slowly, his body far more relaxed than he'd anticipated as he went to clean up, returning twenty minutes later in pajama bottoms and the medallion.

Jim had changed into more casual wear as well, forgoing his usual Westwood for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that clung to his torso, highlighting his surprisingly muscled figure. It took everything he had not to pounce on the man and snog him senseless. "You _really_ should wear that more often, sir," he whispered, curling up with his head in Jim's lap again.

Jim started absently stroking Seb's hair again, fingers moving through the now-damp locks. "Hmm... maybe," he said, idly watching the movie on the screen.

The sniper closed his eyes, gently rocking his head back against the criminal's jeans. The criminal sighed and chuckled a bit. "You're like a cat," he murmured.

"If you say so, Boss," Seb whispered, still rubbing back against the man's jeans. Jim shifted, slightly uncomfortably as he began to grow hard under Seb's touch. The sniper could feel it, smirking and rubbing just a little bit harder. He coughed a little to cover a groan and shifted more, moving his hips slightly into the assassin.

Seb shifted, rolling over so that his mouth was pressed to the denim, kissing the rapidly growing bulge. Jim really did moan this time, winding his fingers into Seb's hair as he felt the heat of the sniper's mouth through the denim.

Pressing kisses and licking at the fabric, Seb smirked...until Jim's mobile went off right in his ear

Jim growled. He flicked open his phone. "Moriarty," he said, his voice a little more rough than usual. "Yes...oh? Ooooh. I see. I'll get right on that," he continued, smirking. He ended the call. "Sorry, Sebby-dear...duty calls."

Sebastian knew his expression was furious but he didn't care. "But-but-"

"We'll have plenty of time to play later. But Daddy has work to do now," Jim said, removing Seb from his lap. He stroked his hand through the assassin's hair once last time before adjusting himself. "Get some rest."

The sniper flopped down on the sofa, pouting as Jim left

"And don't pout...it's most unbecoming on that gorgeous face of yours," Jim called as he walked out the door to get changed back into the suit.

"Says you!"

"Yes, says I," Jim said. He came back into the room in his Westwood and gave Seb a searing kiss. "To hold you over until I get back," he promised lowly.

"Fine," Seb grumbled. "Be safe, Boss."

Jim stopped. Seb had never said that before. "I will," he said, before walking out the door. He wondered; could he let himself care? Let the black ice of his heart thaw to let this dangerous man in? After many hours of this little thought nagging him, all through the job and the cleanup of the aftermath, the answer came to him as he reached the door to his flat. _Yes. He could_.

_**Cute, smexy flufftimes. Now...we are gearing up to where this fic meshes with the parent...coming up next...The Great Game. Read and Review!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**And now the stories collide! This would take place during Chapter 3, right after Seb takes Jim for the first time and before Jim's "Say that again."Enjoy! I know it's a shorter chapter, but it should be fun anyway.**_

Chapter 5: Semtex

Jim tracked the movements of Sherlock's pet for around a week, learning the boring little habits to his boring little life. Now the good doctor was on his way to visit his boring little girlfriend, except that he'd never get there of course. He dispatched his people to grab John Watson from the street, subduing him and rendering him briefly unconscious with a sharp blow to the back of the head. The doctor was stuffed unceremoniously into the back seat of the black car with Seb facing him as he equipped the doctor with an ear bud, the car heading to meet Jim at the pool. He grinned as the deadly vest was strapped to the man with a great, green coat to cover it. This was going to be priceless, especially when John woke up. The sniper dragged the man into the locker room, not activating the vest yet. He smacked him upside the face a few times. "Wake up."

John groaned as he was hit in the face, coming to, quickly.

"Welcome back, Watson." The doctor rubbed at his eyes as he tried to take in his surroundings, the voice of the other man making him think of danger and heat and sand...

"Seb? Sebastian Moran, is that you?" John could hardly believe it, but there he was, the best sniper he had ever known. He looked different though: harder and far colder than the man he'd known in Afghanistan.

"Yeah, I suppose it is, Captain," the sniper growled, dragging him to his feet and checking the parka before stuffing John's hands in the pockets.

"Seb, what's all this?" John asked. He looked down at the coat before discovering the weight across his chest and shoulders. His mouth went as dry as desert dust when he realized what he was strapped into. "Oh god. The bombings. _You're_ behind all this..."

"Well, not me per se. I'm just the insurance."

"Then who?"

"You'll find out soon enough." Seb touched his own earpiece. "Time for a mike check, Boss."

"Check one, two. Hellooooo, Doctor Watson, can you hear me?" Jim crooned into the mic.

John stiffened, his face paling. "Y-yes, I can. Wish I couldn't."

"Good. The pieces are in place, and now all we have to do is wait for the other player for the Game to begin."

"What g-oh. I'm the final hostage. _Stupid idiot_-"

"Well _done_! Oh so surprisingly clever, aren't we?" Jim said, sniggering.

"Stop this. Stop it now!"

"Let me think about that for a moment..._no_."

"Why then? Why him? Why me?" John was glancing fearfully at Moran, his old friend clearly corrupted by the voice in his own ear

"Because, Doctor John Hamish Watson, I am _bored_. And Sherlock, _dear_ Sherlock, is fun. And a challenge. And a hindrance," Jim mused.

"You've clearly had your fun. What more is there to be gained from this?" _If he could just get the damn thing off..._

"Ah-ah-ah, doctor, no funny business. And why should I tell you? Not like you'd understand anyway,"

"Try me. I do live with Sherlock Holmes, remember?"

"You still wouldn't. You're just too..._good_," Jim said, voice layered with disgust and contempt. He heard movement and got the alert that Sherlock was on his way. "Sebby, time for our places. Doctor Watson, I do believe you know the particular modus opperandi; I say something and you repeat it to Sherlock. Right? Right. Ta~" Jim said, sing-song into the mic, grinning. John scowled until he saw the gun Seb was pulling out of his bag. "Are you really going to make me do this, Sebastian?"

Seb looked over at his one-time friend. "Of course I am, Johnny-boy."

With that, the sniper activated the vest. "You know what this will do. You know the rules; you've been following Holmes around. Keep your hands in the pockets and the vest concealed unless the Boss orders you not to. One false move, and you're the newest stain on the wall. Got it?"

John swallowed hard and nodded, hearing Sherlock's entry and proclamations. "It's all to keep me distracted from this..."

"Okay, Johnny Boy, time for the main attraction. Step out nice and slow..."

John stepped out from behind a pillar, hands in the deep pockets of the parka. "Evening. This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?" John said, repeating the words that Jim was saying into his ear.

oOoOo

Seb watched from the second floor, his gun trained on John and the red sight laser light turning on when the doctor opened the coat. The assassin wasn't smiling, his entire body focused and relaxed yet ready to move at the slightest hint of danger. Jim, on the other hand, was nearly beside himself with glee, watching the slight doctor act as his ventriloquist dummy to Sherlock. He could barely retain his laughter as he saw Sherlock's horrified face as John opened the coat, though the expression was there only for a moment.

_Come on...quit playing_, Seb thought, eyes flicking unconsciously to the back door

Jim finally made his move, ceasing to have John parrot back his replies. "Jim Moriarty...hiiii..." he said, stepping out of the shadows, sauntering over.

The sniper allowed himself a quick smirk as the game truly commenced, Jim holding every card. His men did well; no itchy trigger fingers thankfully, and Seb was beginning to think it'd all get wrapped up nicely when Jim returned and ordered all his men to focus on the doctor and the detective...until Sherlock pointed the gun at the discarded, active Semtex vest.

Seb though his heart was going to beat itself out, his hands steady with practiced ease while his mind reeled in panic. _Please...don't shoot...anything but that...don't make me clean up his body..._

"And all of my answers have already crossed yours," Sherlock said, pointing his gun at the vest on the ground. Jim felt himself grow momentarily cold on the inside though he kept his face straight and steady. He knew that Sherlock wouldn't do it even if he had the chance, not with his precious _doctor_ in the room. But still...that very real thrill of terror kept him reminded that he was both human and mortal.

And he hated it.


	6. Chapter 6

_**We had one (or more, I can't actually remember anymore) requests for more with Jim's capture by Mycroft and Sebby's reaction to it all. I only hope we've done it justice. This goes after Chapter 4, Part 2 "Tiger" in the original fic.**_

Chapter 6:

_Jim's flat..._

Seb rolled out of bed, his legs missing the floor and sending the muscled blonde faceplanting into the rug; _everything_ hurt from the job the night before. Son of a bitch had put up a hell of a fight, but Jim had wanted him to suffer. Seb would never admit that the man had gotten the jump on him; Jim would kill him for it. _Tiger was getting careless_. Stretching and groaning, he stumbled out into the flat, calling for Jim but getting no answer. _Probably working_, he thought, going for the fridge

_Somewhere in London..._

Jim was languishing in a cold, sterile cell. He sighed; he had known that this was coming, couldn't keep doing what he was doing and _not_ have the queen take interest. And he didn't mean Her Royal Highness, either. A certain Mycroft Holmes, self-proclaimed occupier of a 'small position in the British government' which was a flat-out lie as the queen he thought of. The Ice Man, as he was fond of calling the elder Holmes, pulled pretty much all the strings attached to Parliament and beyond, and now he was going to interrogate him about his methods. _Boring_. But he had one thing that was niggling in the back of his mind; Sebby didn't know that he was going to be gone.

He got the attention of one of the guards, scowling hulks of men in dark suits and dark glasses. "Can I get a note passed along to my girlfriend?" he asked one particularly thick-looking man; judging by his forehead, his family hadn't been blessed in evolving from Cro Magnons with the rest of the human race. The man scowled at him. "Not allowed to."

"Aw, c'mon. Be a mate. I'll make it worth your while," he said.

" 'ow much?"

"Twenty five," Jim said, hiding an internal grin as he waited for the inevitable question and blow-off, only for him to clarify.

"Twen'y five wha'?" the man said, turning to go.

"Million." Got him. Greed was a wonderful thing.

"And 'ow d'you plan on doin' tha'?"

"Consider it an I.O.U. I always pay my debts, my fine sir," he replied, appearing sincere. The man thought it over, glancing around. "You know you're on camera."

"Which is something I'll leave to you to take care of," he said.

"Oh. Be quick abou' i' then."

Jim scribbled out a quick note, knowing that the guard would read it.

_"My dearest Seb: delayed for some time. Don't worry, will make it back to you, I swear. Yours, Jim."_

"An' where do I deliver i'?"

"Have the bartender at 'The Magpie's Nest' hold it. He'll know who to give it to," Jim said. That was the bar that he owned and ran from the shadows where all his shady dealings went down and how he kept tabs on the players of the underworld. The man took it before shutting the cell door and hurrying off to fix the footage and to visit the bar, twenty five million pounds in his head

Jim sat back with a slight grin. Now all he could do was wait it out.

oOoOo

Three days had gone by with no word from Jim and Seb was losing his mind. He had no jobs and no orders, not even a note in the kitchen telling him to do something. He finally relented and left his room for a drink at Jim's bar the evening of the fourth day, asking for a double Scotch which he downed almost instantly, the alcohol burning his throat.

The bartender frowned. "Easy on those, mate," he said. "Oh, and before I forget...this was sent to you..." He looked at the name on the note and stifled a chuckle. "'Sebrina'...sorry, but you're one _ugly_ bird."

"I'm not-" Seb started to growl before noticing the handwriting. He all but ripped the note from the man's hand, reading and re-reading the words. "How'd you know it was for me?"

"Cause you're not the only one who works for Jim, obviously. He doesn't hire idiots. I've heard him call you 'Seb' enough, and he had to fudge things to get this to you, I'm sure," the bartender replied, raising an eyebrow and speaking quietly. Seb met the man's eyes coolly. "Thank you," he whispered. "Another double. Put it on his tab."

"Last one and then I'm cutting you off. I know he doesn't like it when you're drunk," the bartender said, pouring the drink and sliding it over to the agitated sniper.

"He won't know."

The bartender laughed. "You're a born fool if you think that."

"He's detained somewhere. There's no fucking way he could know what I'm doing right now, and I've known the man for three fucking years."

"Believe me, he'd know. I've worked for him for fifteen. How d'you think he got this note here? He _knew_ you'd come here." the bartender said darkly.

Seb downed his second drink, pushing the glass back. "Another."

"No. Told you, he'd know, and I don't much feel like losing another toe to him in his...displeasure," the bartender said, taking the dirty glass and limping away.

Seb stared after the man. _A toe_? Cursing, he made his way back to the flat, pouring himself another drink from the cabinet in the kitchen. "Take that, _Boss_," he growled to the empty flat.

With astounding effort, he forced himself to save half the bottle for later before collapsing on the sofa in a drunken stupor, a garbage can by his head along with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin for when he woke. He didn't want to think about Jim that night.

oOoOo

From the confines of his cell, Jim scowled. He knew that his bartender at the Nest would have delivered the note _and_ cut Sebby off after two drinks, but knowing his spiteful sniper, he was probably getting sloshed back at the flat. It had been a rough several days: interrogation after interrogation after interrogation. And through it all, he kept silent...until after the fifth day when the 'queen' decided to talk with him one-on-one.

Mycroft Holmes made his way into the grey, cold cell, staring icily down at the small, dangerous man in the corner. "Hello, James," he said, flicking imaginary dust from his sleeves. Jim merely tilted his head and regarded the tall man. He said nothing; that was his thing: say nothing until he heard what he _wanted_.

"You do seem to delight in not talking, although my brother would claim otherwise."

Jim allowed his lips to quirk into a slight smile.

"You seem to agree."

He really did smile now, although the expression was neither humorous nor kind.

"Ahhhh, I see," Mycroft remarked, standing very still in the center of the cell. "My brother, is it?"

Jim, still, said nothing. But that was it. _Good one, Ice Man. Always so _smart_._

"What must I do to get you to talk, hmmm? James Moriarty, consulting criminal mastermind, eager for attention, even willing to sink to tormenting my brother to get it?"

Jim rolled his eyes. Mycroft was trying to bait him, get him angry to lash out. He wouldn't do that, though. He had far more restraint.

"Or even willing to sleep with subordinates," the man added.

He stiffened. _Oh_. That was a barb that had sunk home.

"Don't like me talking about him? You must be naive to think we don't know about Colonel Moran."

Taking a considerable amount of willpower, Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. _Yes, yes, go on, threaten me with him if you like, not going to get me to talk_. Smug, prig bastard. He entertained several delightful visions of dumping the infuriatingly cool Mycroft Holmes into a vat of acid, smirking as he thought of watching the other scream and shudder and go to _pieces_. Literally.

"Must I remind you that I have the same talents as my brother? You don't fool me for a second, James," Mycroft sighed, tapping his umbrella against the floor. "Clever trick with the note, though. I'm sure _he's_ at ease now," he added sarcastically.

Jim knew he had to have seen the exchange; he could tell one-way glass when he saw it (he enjoyed spying on Sebby in the showers with it, to be honest). "Well, you're certainly not your brother. For one thing, he's less boring," Jim finally said, drawling his contempt. If Mycroft could bait him, then he could bait back just as well.

The Ice Man barely batted an eyelash. "Why does he fascinate you so?"

"Why shouldn't he? Brilliant man who goes around solving crimes, doing all the things you _can't_, chained to your desk and your...'small position'."

"Not can't, won't be bothered with."

"Awww...won't be bothered with. Is that what Daddy did to you and little Sherly when he wasn't drunk? Didn't bother with either of you unless he had a bottle in hand. The scars barely show now, but they're there. One too many pints at the club, one too many whiskeys with the mates, and home again home again, jiggity jig. Find his freak sons, wish they could be normal boys to make Daddy _proud_."

Mycroft's knuckled tightened reflexively on his umbrella. "We are not our father," he hissed.

Jim had to stifle a grin. _Got him_. "No, I daresay you aren't. You would at least have been happy for a while if you were: found some boring bint, knocked her up the duff, had a litter of whelps before their mewling got to you and you went down his road. Bottles with the mates that broke over mantelpieces and the babes play with the shards, cutting themselves on the sparkling bits that Daddy brought home."

_CRACK._ The umbrella knocked Jim's head to the side as Mycroft had a very rare moment where he lost control.

Jim's head rocked back and he let it stay there for a bit before resetting himself with that reptilian movement that unsettled so many, spitting blood from the cut inside his mouth to one side. "Oh, touched a nerve, now, have I?" he said, false innocence dripping sarcastically from each word. "Guess there's a bit more of the old man in you than you like to let on. Hitting folk smaller than you."

"You are only smaller than me in stature, Moriarty, not in talk and certainly not in intellect."

"Yeah yeah, go on, then," he crooned, smiling, showing off bloody teeth. "Your threats, your accusations, your _beatings_...none of it will make me talk unless I hear what _I_ want to hear."

"What do you want to hear, then?"

"Tell me about your brother. First word, skinned knees, embarrassing stories, the whole bit. I want to hear the Story of Sherlock."

"Why?"

"I like to know the enemy."

"What will you tell me in return?"

"Oh, bits and pieces here and there. Coups to be planned, bombings to be placed, _spies_ to be captured..."

Mycroft sighed, eyeing the man for a very long minute. "Where should I start?"

"Start where every story does. From the beginning." With a smirk, Jim played his final move. "It's elementary, my dear."

oOoOo

Seb was really going stir crazy. Three weeks now and no more from Jim. No notes, no calls, no news. It was as if James Moriarty had vanished from the face of the earth.

He finally gave in and picked the lock to Jim's office, telling himself he was just looking for more alcohol which was actually true, but he also wanted to get a look at Jim's stuff in case there were any hints as to where he could find the man. Seb managed to disable most of the traps that went off initially but missed the hypodermic dart from the wall that knocked him on his arse. He collapsed to the carpet as the drug flooded his system, vaguely wondering if Jim had mixed the solution specifically for his sniper's body weight and resistance to such things as he slipped into unconsciousness for twelve straight hours.

oOoOo

The man in the impeccable suit and wrinkled his nose in distaste. This...drooling ape on the rug of the office was his employer's right hand man? He highly doubted it, but he had his marching orders. The man nudged the sniper with his foot.

Seb started. "GIMMETHESTEAK!" he yelled before coming fully around, on his feet in seconds as he eyed the other man. His head felt like it was going to split open and there was dried drool at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away angrily.

"I was told to come find one Sebastian Moran. I would hope that I am mistaken," the man said, contempt dripping from his voice.

"Wipe that look off your face, brat. I'm Moran." His brain was coming back online and he felt his body thrumming with anger and frustration.

"You've a note from our employer," said the man, handing the piece of paper to the sniper. He turned to go as Seb read the note, muttering under his breath "Although how he thought _you_ would be able to read is beyond me..."

Seb's eyes flashed and the other man soon found his face smashed against the wall of the corridor.

"Listen here, cretin," Seb whispered, "_I'm_ his most trusted, most faithful man. Not you. You're...ah..._expendable_, if you get my drift. I had considered thanking you for the message, but now, you'll be lucky to make it out with your face intact, much less alive."

The spy cried out in pain and felt a real tingle of fear crawl up his spine. "Yeff, fir," he said, his reply muffled by the blood in his mouth and the wall to his face. Seb smashed his head against the wall again. "Didn't quite catch that."

"Yes, sir!" the spy sobbed, clutching at his broken nose and split lips.

"Stop blubbering, you big _baby_," Seb snarled, lifting the man and throwing him down the corridor. _GOD_ it felt good to get rid of some of his aggression. The spy landed hard and felt the air rush out of him. He got to his hands and knees and tried to crawl away, _tried_ being the operative word. Seb stepped on his ankle, pressing down hard with one boot-encased foot. "Going somewhere?"

"Please, let me go, please...I'm sorry..." he blubbered inelegantly.

"Sorry-for-_what_?"

"Sorry for insulting you, sir!"

Seb pressed harder, just enough to hear the bone crack. "Out of my _sight_," he hissed. "And be grateful I spared your life. I'm sure Boss'd love your eyeballs for his collection."

The spy shrieked as the bone in his ankle broke. "Yes sir," he managed to say, as he dragged himself away.

Seb locked the door behind him before tearing back to the office, seizing the note and reading it greedily.

_Sebby dearest; sorry I'm not home yet. Mycroft is being such a poor host. I should be home soon. Give me three days at the very most. Yours, Jim._

Seb frowned. _Mycroft_. "Fucking ponce," he growled casting his gaze around the room to find the alcohol cabinet, noticing almost immediately the nice, chrome keypad that served as the lock. "Fucking _hell_," he groaned. He really just needed a fucking drink.

oOoOo

After many more long days and hours of storytelling, Jim could tell that Mycroft's supply of anecdotes was about to dry up. He sighed and carved another 'Sherlock' into the wall of his cell.

"Why do you insist on doing that?"

"Reasons," Jim quipped back, smiling, not turning around.

"Anything else you care to share with me?"

Not particularly. Am I free to go now, _your highness_?" he drawled, chucking the rock into a corner, hearing it clatter.

"Perhaps...not yet." Mycroft turned on his heel and swept from the room

Jim scowled and went to go retrieve his rock. It was day two. He had to get out of here by tomorrow...no reason he couldn't keep his promise to his Sebby.

oOoOo

Seb broke down on the second night and went to the store. He purchased himself a nice bottle of his favorite Scotch, paying cash because he didn't trust his card to not have a built in rejection to liquor purchases. That'd just be so Jim. He fell asleep that having drunk half the bottle, missing the man more than ever. Tomorrow, he had to come back tomorrow or the whole of London would not be able to keep him from finding his Boss, his lover, his Jim.

oOoOo

The next morning Mycroft watched the man for several hours as he carved the elder Holmes's brother's name onto the wall several more times and the glass before finally relenting. "Let him go."

The door opened and Mycroft's men released the criminal. Jim smiled. _Finally_. "I'd say thanks for the stay, but the service was shit. The entertainment though...? _Priceless_," he said as he walked out of the door, a free man. _Check_. _Your move, Holmes._

_**The next chapter should be up soon. I'm hoping to have the whole thing up by the end of the month...it'll all depend on how fast I can edit. There are four chapters to go!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: What started off as a simple fluff bit for Seb to care for Jim and help nurse him back to health after returning from Mycroft's "care" kind of got away from us and turned into what you see below. Warnings for fluff/crack/angst. This takes place after Jim's return to Seb after being detained in Chapter 5: Magpie in the parent fic. If the criminal mastermind or even the sniper seem a little OOC...well, we were caught up in fluff and it was two in the morning, but we liked where it was going. Enjoy. Comments are always welcome, but keep them constructive, not cruel.**_

Chapter 7: Breakfast and Monsters

Jim blinked blearily. He was warm and comfortable, and his cell, courtesy of Mycroft, was decidedly neither. Then he took a deep breath and inhaled the familiar scent of gunpowder, metal, and soap. "Seb?" he mumbled.

"You're awake...thank God."

"'Course I'm awake," he said. He took another deep breath, and the scent that hit him was decidedly less pleasing. "Oh god...is that me? I fucking _reek_," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to say anything, but I've been watching you sleep all night because I can't relax with that stench." _And because I was afraid you'd disappear again. _Seb tousled his hair gently before pulling the covers off Jim. "Come on. Shower time."

"Please. And it's not my fault they didn't let me shower. Bastards," he said moodily, sitting up and slowly hauling himself out of bed. He felt as weak as a kitten, and he _hated_ it.

"Woah, slow down there, Boss." Seb was at his side in an instant, steadying him. "You gotta take it slow. Look, I know you hate it, but please."

Jim scowled. "Fine. Stupid limitations. Unreliable transport," he muttered, clutching at Seb as he guided him down the hallway towards the bathroom.

"Quit your whining. 'It doesn't become you.'"

He glared at Seb. "Cut me a break. I was in a cell for nearly a month, listening to a prat who wanted me to spill everything. I reserve the right to whine about my pitiful condition."

Seb turned on the water, making it as hot as he could before slowly stripping his Boss, biting back several choice comments as he saw the state of the man's body.

"Oh, spare me the looks," Jim said, when he saw Seb's eyes go flinty at the state of his body: nasty bruises on almost every inch of him, some fading, some fresh, all of them livid on the paleness of his skin. He let the sniper guide him into the shower where he made a noise of satisfaction at the hot water. "Oh my god, that feels _amazing_," he moaned, tilting his head back and letting the spray clean the larger bits of grime and muck out of his hair. Seb stripped in a second and joined him, lathering the soap up on a cloth before ever so gently washing the man down.

The smaller man winced as the cloth hit some of the more prominent bruises, even with Seb's careful handling, but he relaxed into his lover's touch. It was the one thing he missed most in his confinement. Well, that and decent food. Even if he hadn't eaten much, what they had brought him could have very well been made of cardboard.

"Sorry," Seb murmured whenever pain crossed Jim's features. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he finished, taking down the showerhead to rinse off the man before taking up the shampoo.

"Not your fault," Jim said. He started at the touch on his scalp, then fairly purred as Seb worked shampoo into his hair.

"Almost done," he whispered, rinsing the suds before working just a bit of conditioner in. "There," he said, rinsing the criminal off. "All clean and much better smelling."

Jim chuckled a bit. "Thank you, m'dear," he said, leaning back into the man's chest, closing his eyes and just letting the hot water hit him. Tenderly, Seb wrapped him in a hug, humming softly as the water continued to soak them. Jim held Seb's hands. He frowned slightly as he tried to place the tune, then started laughing, wincing at his bruised ribs, but laughing. "Really? _Disney_?" he asked between gasps.

"Don't judge. The television was stuck...well, fine, I couldn't find the remote, but _still_."

"And you couldn't be bothered to _get up_ and change the channel?" Jim asked, still laughing.

"Uh...no. I was-I was rather drunk at the time."

Jim scowled. "I'll let that slide. This once. I need these hands steady, not shaking because of the bottle," he said, lifting Seb's hands from his chest and pressing a kiss to each palm before returning them to their original positions.

"You weren't here. And I needed something, anything, and I had Scotch."

"You could've taken up a hobby. Like, oh, I dunno, _knitting_. What would you do if I hadn't come back? Because, let's face it, my dove, our line of work is dangerous and unpredictable, and that very well may happen one day," Jim said, sternly but gently.

"Okay, first off, alcohol is comforting, secondly, '_dove_?', and thirdly, don't you even suggest that as a possibility, you idjit. I'll always be there to protect you."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Firstly: the after-effects aren't worth the 'comfort' of alcohol. Secondly: Yes. Term of endearment. Thirdly: It's something that you need to consider. You won't _always_ be around, no matter how much you and I both want and need you to be."

Seb turned the man to face him, staring down into the brown eyes. "Why would you care about my drinking, hmm? You clearly do as _all_ of the alcohol except a single bottle of Scotch that I drank is locked up in your office and you booby trapped the place."

"Because I've seen far too many lives ruined by it," Jim said quietly.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you almost sound regretful."

"I'm allowed to be. Despite all my 'big, bad criminal' talk and routine, I'm still only human. I'm still only a man," Jim said. This was the most he had _ever_ let anyone see of the real him; the real James Patrick Moriarty from Dublin.

"I'm just not used to it. You're always so...unpredictable and even cold. By the way, those darts in your walls fucking hurt."

"Your fault for sneaking into the office," Jim said cheekily.

"Your fault for not letting me know beforehand."

"Like I'd tell you my office was booby-trapped. You should know better! And a criminal never tells _all_ of his secrets...that's just bad form. Speaking of bad form, I really don't want to look like a prune," he said, looking at his wrinkled fingertips. He turned off the shower and hobbled out, wrapping a towel around himself. Seb chuckled and followed suit. "Shall I make us something to eat?"

"Oh, you're a _saint_. Saint Sebby, the Magnificent, patron of Snipers and Hunters," Jim said, almost groaning at the thought of food. _Actual_ food, that is. The sniper truly blushed. "Don't overdo it," he said softly, secretly very pleased with the praise; Jim didn't dole that out for everyone. "Something in particular you want? Easy? Comfort food? A banana?"

"Don't care. Food."

"Go get dressed then. And bring me some clothes too. I'll get started," Seb said, kissing Jim's cheek gently before heading off to the kitchen, a towel around his waist. Jim did, dressing in a pair of pajama pants and one of Seb's shirts, bringing the sniper the same. The man practically leered at Jim as he saw his choice of outfits. "Isn't that a bit big on you?" he teased, mixing the batter for the pancakes and heating up the griddle for bacon.

"Don't care. Comfy. Smells nice." Jim said, handing the sniper his clothes.

_Jim picking clothes for comfort? Oh, what did they do to you? _"On my chair. Thought I'd give you a show," Seb replied, dropping his towel as he retrieved bacon and strawberries from the fridge. Jim's lips curled into a smirk as he saw Seb's very attractive naked backside moving. "Oh, a show. One that I'll watch most _avidly_," he murmured.

"Sit then, my dear sir. Your servant is preparing you a fine meal."

Jim sighed. "Oh, no servant tonight. I just..." he paused, feeling almost embarrassed to say the next words. "I just want it to be Jim and Seb. No roles, no rules, just..._us_."

Seb glanced up at him, surprised. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

The sniper crossed to where Jim was standing and kissed him on the mouth, stroking his hair gently before pulling back. "Want me to teach you how to do bacon?"

Jim snorted. "I _do_ know how to cook," he said.

"Then do you want me to wait on you or do you want to help?"

"I'll help. Pass those strawberries, please; I'll slice them," he said.

Seb obeyed, dropping the first of the pancake batter on the skillet as he added the bacon to the now hot griddle, the meat sizzling and crackling and filling the room with its delicious aroma.

"Put some clothes on! Bacon grease _hurts_," Jim admonished from his seat, nearly drooling from the scent that filled the air.

Rolling his eyes, Seb tugged on the clothes Jim had brought, unable to resist bending over to pull on his pajama bottoms. Jim leered and wolf-whistled. "Oh, you sexy thing," he cat-called, laughing. The sniper cracked a smile. "The place is too quiet without you," he replied, shrugging his shirt on before returning to the stove and flipping the pancakes.

"Funny how the dynamic of a place changes when someone leaves it," Jim mused.

"It's too quiet for sure. I'm so used to you going off on one of your rants." Seb stacked the done pancakes on a tray and slid them in the oven to keep them warm. "So...if you want, after breakfast we could curl up on the couch. You really should take it easy."

"Please could we? That'd be...nice," he said, depositing the strawberry slices in a bowl, leaving the severed tops in a growing pile to one side. Seb made another set of pancakes before checking the bacon. "Chewy or crispy, Jim?"

"Chewy. Easier to eat. And tastier," Jim said.

"Just my thought," Seb said, turning over the bacon slices, watching them shrivel as they cooked, his mouth watering. Jim's stomach made loud noises. "Shush, you," he told it, prodding it with his fingers. The sniper started giggling. "Like you have any control over that," he said, scooping the second batch into the oven before starting the last round, in case either of them wanted seconds.

"Doesn't have to go and make dying whale noises," he muttered.

The blonde man roared with laughter, getting the syrup and orange juice from the fridge as he gasped for breath before checking the food.

"Can they cook faster?" Jim said, nearly drooling all over himself as Seb prodded the last batch of pancakes, checking the bottoms.

"Nope. Why don't you put the berries on the table, set it, and pour us juice? I'm almost done."

"Will do," he said, taking the bowl in one hand and the juice in the other. he set both things on the table and poured before returning to the kitchen to stand next to Seb as he finished up. With a flourish, Seb piled the bacon onto one plate and the hot pancakes onto another. "Breakfast is ready."

Jim had to force himself to move slowly in taking the food; he added butter and syrup to the pancakes and cut them up evenly into small, bite-sized pieces. The criminal managed to finish this task before he threw decorum out the window and began attacking his food, eating it in an almost feral manner. "OhmyGod this is so _good_," he said with his mouth full.

Seb smirked, eating a bit slower than Jim. "Slow down or you'll be sick. I've already had to deal with vomit this week and don't want to again for a while."

Jim made a muffled noise of assent, and slowed marginally. With his free hand, he reached out and took one of Seb's. The action was shy, almost hesitant. Seb nearly dropped his fork when Jim took his hand, but he soon snapped out of it and flipped it so that their palms were together, his thumb rubbing slow circles on Jim's hand as he ate, finished sooner than he wanted. He'd really outdone himself with the meal.

Jim smiled, goose bumps rising as Seb rubbed slow, small circles on his skin. He finished shortly after Seb did. "We can do dishes later. Couch?"

"Of course." Scooping the man up before he could protest, Seb carried him to the den, knocking the empty Scotch bottle under the sofa as he set them both down and grabbed a blanket.

"Bluh-wha-put me down!" Jim spluttered as Seb scooped him up and carried him, bridal-fashion, to the couch before he sat down and covered them both with a blanket. "I _can_ walk, you know," he said, no real heat to the words as he snuggled into the assassin's warmth.

"You're injured and I'm taking care of you. Because that's what I do," Seb replied, letting the younger man curl up on Seb's torso as he flicked the telly on. "What shall we watch, hmm?"

"Don't care. You pick."

He flipped aimlessly through the channels, not really set on anything, stopping for a few seconds on the beginning of _Bridget Jones' Diary_, just to tease Jim.

"Oh God, anything but that," Jim groaned.

The sniper grinned, kissing the man's head before stopping on _American Beauty_. "You know this one?" Jim shook his head but had Seb stop at "_Robin Hood: Men in Tights._"

"Oh oh oh! This one!" he said excitedly, grinning. "God knows I need a laugh."

"You got it." Seb dropped the remote and hugged his lover to him, pressing gentle kisses to his face and hair as they watched the ridiculous, parodical antics on the screen. Jim watched and laughed with his lover as the movie unfolded. As the credits rolled, he stretched slightly. "It's good to be the king," he quoted, before leaning in to kiss Sebastian on the mouth.

The larger man moaned, hands cupping Jim's face tenderly as the man kissed him. "Indeed," he purred back, closing his eyes and prising Jim's lips open with his tongue. He purred as their tongues twined, threading his fingers through Seb's hair to hold him closer. When the broke for air, he let out a sigh of contentment and rested his head against the assassin's chest, nuzzling into it and pressing gentle kisses above his heart.

Seb carded his fingers through the man's hair, stroking and petting him. "Too long...one month is too long...I go insane without you. God, I broke into your office and got knocked out just trying to get alcohol. And you'll love this, I paid for the bottle of Scotch I caved for with cash because I was afraid you'd put some kind of hold on my card to keep me from buying it."

Jim's eyebrows went up. "Huh...you're quite clever to figure it out that quickly," he said, smirking.

"Well, your bartender cut me off after two double Scotches, and then I finished the open bottle here in less than 24 hours and didn't drink again until 3 days ago. I had a bit of time to mull it over."

"You're _learning_! Excellent," Jim said, beaming. He pressed another kiss to Seb's chest.

"You're predictable."

He scowled. "Excuse me?" he said, a bit of the usual ice creeping into his tone.

"It's only predictable that you'd do everything in your power to keep me from getting at the alcohol. Please, Boss."

"Ah. Fine," he said, relaxing again.

"What did you think I meant? You sounded pissed."

"Predictable is not a term I like being assigned to me," he admitted, doodling idle patterns on Seb's abdomen with his fingertips.

"Why not?"

"Because it makes me sound mundane, ordinary. And that is something that I'm _not_," he said, tone vehement.

"You think I could _ever_ fall for or settle down with _mundane_? Put that big brain of yours to work and look at me."

"True," Jim mused. Then he went back to something Seb had said earlier in the sentence. "...fall for?"

The sniper glanced away, face flushed. "Yeah. I've told you I love you, and I mean it when I say it. And...I guess I have fallen for you, Boss..._Jim_. Sir. James."

Jim blinked rapidly. Then he swallowed hard. "Oh. Oh, my love, my sniper, my Sebastian," he said, a small, soft smile growing on his face. "Did you know that the thought of coming back to you was the only thing that kept me from totally cracking?"

"You're fucking kidding."

"Nope, not kidding."

Seb slowly looked back at Jim, the man's stubbled chin resting just over his own heart. "Why me?"

Jim mulled it over for a minute. "Because you're the only one who's had the guts to stick up to me, and to not leave or die after my...ah..._discipline_," he said.

"So...because I take your shit and don't leave and am a smart-arse all the time, I'm your homing beacon?" His lips twitched slightly, very flattered by Jim's response.

"Yeah... pretty much," Jim said. "My lighthouse."

The blonde's eyes began to burn. "Your candle on the water," he replied, feeling very foolish and childish, but his baby brother had insisted on the stupid film their entire childhood before his murder. Jim's lips quirked into a sad smile; he squeezed Seb closer. "Yeah, my candle on the water," he said softly. (1)

Seb couldn't hold it in anymore, the tears leaking out of the corner of his eye. He'd never cried over his brother, the boy's murderer being his first kill. Revenge had sated him then, but in that moment, he missed Marty, the boy's ginger curls and toothy grin haunting him for the first time in over twenty years. Jim stroked Seb's hair softly and wiped the tears away. "It's all right to miss him," he said quietly, showing an uncharacteristic gentleness.

The dam broke and Sebastian Moran began to cry

Jim could feel his own eyes prickling as he held his sobbing lover. He cleared his throat and began to sing... "Come stop your crying, it'll be all right. Just take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don't you cry..." (2)

"D-didn't know-you k-knew that s-song," Seb whimpered, tears falling hot and thick. He couldn't describe how touched he was that Jim was singing what he himself had been humming in the shower not a few hours before.

Jim coughed a bit and flushed. "I...er...IloveDisneymovies," he said in a rush.

"You d-do not."

"Beauty and the Beast is my favorite."

"You're lying." Seb looked through wet eyes at Jim. "I don't believe it for a second."

Jim sighed. "Tale as old as time... true as it can be. Barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly. Certain as the sun, rising in the east. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Beauty and the Beast. Ever just as strange, ever a surprise. Ever as before, ever just as sure, as the sun will rise..." he sang. (3)

Slowly, ever so slowly, Seb began to chuckle, his tears turning into ones of absolute mirth. "No one will believe it," he howled. "_I_ don't even believe it."

Jim blushed, embarrassed. "Shut up," he muttered, ducking his head.

Seb pulled him up so their noses were level. "I don't deserve you," he whispered. "You're a fucking sadist and you've hurt me more times than I can count but I still don't deserve you."

"Wrong..."

"How am I wrong?"

"I'm the one who doesn't deserve _you_. You put up with all of that, and still you-you _love_ me," Jim said, almost in awe.

"How could I not?"

"I'm wondering how you could in the first place. Not complaining! Just wondering. And if it's one of Life's Great Mysteries, then I'm fine with it," he said.

"Because you're amazing. Because you're the best shag of my life. Because you're fucking gorgeous. Because you dragged me out of my Scotch soaked gutter and shoved me back into the world. Because you saved me. It's really not that hard. I'm surprised you hadn't figured that out, Boss."

Jim was blinking back tears of his own now, and he kissed Seb fiercely. This wasn't a kiss meant to ignite, it was one of _feeling_. The sniper's eyes widened before the fluttered shut, his hands gently rubbing Jim's back as the smaller man kissed him. "I love you," he whispered, his words swallowed by his lover. Breaking for air for a moment, Jim took a deep breath and said the three words that were nearly foreign to him. "And I love you," he said.

Sebby had to fight back tears again. "I could listen to you say those words forever, Boss," he replied, the Irish brogue of the dark haired man settling over him.

"I love you," he said again.

"Say something else. Anything. I need to hear your voice." Seb bit his lip, feeling childish.

Jim's lips quirked into a smile. He began to sing again, a well-known song of his birthplace. "Minstrel boy to the war has gone, in the ranks of death you will find him. His father's sword he hath girded on, and his wild harp slung behind him. 'Land of song!' said the warrior bard, 'though all the world betrays thee, one sword at least thy rights shall guard, one faithful heart shall praise thee.'" (4)

Seb's eyes closed, tears leaking from them again. He knew he was the one who'd gone through war and returned alive, but somehow, he saw his baby brother as the minstrel boy, harp over his shoulder, ginger curls matted with blood, pale grey eyes begging for help on the battlefield.

Jim saw Seb start to cry again, and he quickly racked his brains for another song that would make him stop. A song his mother would sing to him when he was a babe in arms suddenly popped up and he began again. "I know a valley fair, Eileen Aroon. I know a cottage there, Eileen Aroon. Lie in the valley shade, I know a tender maid. Flow'r of the hazel glade, Eileen Aroon." (5)

"M'name's not Eileen."

Jim had to chuckle. "Well, 'Sebastian Moran' doesn't really fit with the lyrics," he said. Seb was still crying but managed a weak chuckle. "I really n-never took you f-for a singer, Boss. Never thought you'd f-find it necessary."

"I do like to sing, but only at home," he said.

"Where is home?"

Jim pursed his lips and, once more, swallowed. "Wherever you are."

Seb slowly sat up and clutched the man to his chest, sobbing and laughing and whispering how much he loved Jim into the man's ear, rocking them back and forth as he sought comfort. Jim rubbed the sniper's back in slow, soothing circles, returning Seb's whispered affections with murmurs of his own.

"S-sorry for b-blubbering like a t-teenage girl," Seb mumbled, hugging him tighter.

"Don't apologize. We are, after all, only human."

"Maybe I am."

"Well, so am I...you're living proof that I am. Because monsters can't love."

"They can lie."

Jim recoiled, hurt. "Ah. I see," he said softly.

Seb pulled back; something had changed. "W-what?"

"Go start cleaning up. The _monster_ needs to go get some more sleep," Jim said, his voice bitter.

_Oh_. "No, Jim, wait-"

"_Go_."

"No."

Jim glared at Seb. "_Leave me_." he hissed, teeth bared.

"What did I do wrong? Jim, please-"

Jim disentangled himself from Seb and got up, stalking towards his room.

"Stop! Please, Jim. Let me explain." Seb launched up, chasing after the man and catching hold of his wrist

Jim wrenched his wrist out of Seb's grasp. "No, you've explained yourself well enough. The monsters don't deserve to love," he spat, his eyes cold and hurt.

"You thought...no, that's not what I meant at all!"

"Then what? I tell you that I'm human and that I love you and you say that you don't believe me, call me a monster and liar. I get it. I really do. Now _go_, Moran, while the _monster_ is still feeling generous," Jim said. He knew that he was being unfair, but he was just too angry and hurt to care.

Seizing Jim's wrists, Seb threw him against the wall, pinning him. "You still don't get it, do you? With your huge brain and knowing all about me, you manage to forget or possibly even ignore the tiny detail that maybe, just maybe in all of my travels, I've been utterly broken and destroyed by monsters before? Ones who took what they wanted from me before dumping me, tossed aside like a toy. I've been waiting every day for three years for you to do the same. What I said before slipped out. I didn't mean it, Jim. Please...I really do love you. I'm just so used to being surrounded by lies and liars that-that I don't always know when something is the truth. Never when it matters, anyway."

Jim listened as he glared up at the blonde. "And I'm so used to being alone that it should be easy to do that: to dump you. Then why do I hate the idea of you being gone? I...Seb, I've never loved before. I'm an emotional cripple; in that, I am a babe in the woods, a magpie with no wings or voice. I have to take everything at face value. I can't lie to you when I say that because it's simple; I don't know _how_ to lie those words," he said, his voice nearly cracking.

"How am I supposed to know that, sir? I've seen you take men apart, play with them. How am I supposed to be able to trust anything as it is anymore, even though I know you better than most people alive?"

"I've never lied to you. Surprisingly, I really haven't. I've seen no reason to. I trust you, implicitly. With my life. With my work. With my..." here, he had to pause and swallow. He knew that it sounded like something out of a horrible romantic comedy, but it was true. "With my heart."

Seb slowly released Jim's hands, stepping back. "All right then. If...if you really want to still leave, you can. I won't stop you."

"Why would I leave? I have no reason to. I would never leave you," Jim murmured, taking a step towards him.

"You're sure about that? I'm not just a shiny toy you'll get bored with?"

"Seb...Sebby..._Sebastian_. If I were bored with you, I would have gotten rid of you long ago. I will _never_ be bored with you."

"You don't know that," the sniper mumbled, unable to look Jim in the eye. He felt ashamed for still doubting him, but he had to make sure. After all, he was the one who had called the man a monster. Jim cupped the sniper's face in his hands. "Of course I know that. I'm the one with the big scary brain, after all," he said, grinning gently.

Seb's lip was trembling. "I'm...scared," he finally admitted.

Jim took a deep breath. "So am I."

"You're never scared."

Of course I get scared...I'm just good at hiding it. Human, remember?"

Seb bit back a thousand replies. "I've never seen you as a human, Jim," he said. The criminal took a step back and spread his arms out. "Well, look at me, for here I stand."

Seb slowly walked around him, taking everything in. "Well, you certainly look human and smell human, but there's something decidedly...ah..._inhuman_ in your eyes. At least, to me."

Jim took a breath, let it out. He closed his eyes and concentrated on how he felt about Seb before opening them again. "How about now?"

Seb leaned in, staring hard at the chocolate eyes and almost dropping to his knees when he finally figured out what was written there. Jim's lips twitched into a soft smile. "_Human_," he said quietly.

The sniper gently touched the younger man's face. "_Human_," he whispered back, amazed.

Jim placed his hand over Seb's and leaned into his touch before stepping closer and wrapping his arms around him in an embrace, burying his face into the sniper's chest and letting out a shuddering breath. Seb held him tightly, his own breath stuttering in his chest.

"I love you," Jim whispered into Seb's chest.

"I love you too, Boss," Seb replied.

"Not Boss for this...Jim. Call me Jim," he murmured. Seb pulled the man's head back just enough so their eyes locked. "_Jim_..."

Jim felt his breath catch in his throat and his eyes water a bit. "Seb..."

"_Jim_"

Jim swallowed hard and then pulled Seb into a fierce embrace. He was so confused, but so...happy at the same time. The feelings threatened to overwhelm him and he held his sniper tighter, as if he could melt into the other man.

"I've got you, Jim. I'm not gonna let go."

"Good."

Seb held the man for a very long time, making sure he stayed upright, making sure they stayed close together. "What do you need?" he finally whispered, kissing the top of Jim's head

"You. I need you. I need you to be here for me; my bodyguard, my sniper, my lover, my better half. You are all that I need."

Seb's heart began to ache, and he held the smaller man just a little tighter. "Then can I ask the same of you? My boss, my savior, my lover, my better half. You're the only thing I need, the only thing I want."

"Of course, Seb. Of course."

Seb dropped to his knees suddenly, looking up at Jim now instead of down at him. "And I can trust that? Really can? I don't want to doubt you and don't mean to, I swear it. I just...I _need_-"

Jim pressed his fingers to Seb's lips, hushing him. "Sebastian...I have never, and _will_ never, lie to you. You can trust that."

"Kiss me, please. I need-you know. You."

Jim knelt and kissed his lover; first on the forehead, then on the eyelids, then on the mouth; a kiss to pledge and a kiss to keep. It was slow and sweet and glorious, the sniper's hands holding Jim's face to him. "Thank you," he said softly, nuzzling Jim's cheek.

Jim smiled slowly. "You're welcome," he replied, equally soft.

Slowly, Seb stood again before scooping up Jim into his arms and carrying the man back to the den, curling up on the sofa with him and the blanket. "I'm so, so sorry."

The criminal snuggled up to him and let the three words that he had _never_ said to anyone before, ever, escape. "You are forgiven."

Curling up so that Jim was encased by his body and the back of the sofa, Seb closed his eyes, breathing in their combined smell. "Forever," he whispered.

_(1) Candle on the Water- Pete's Dragon_

_(2) You'll Be in My Heart- Tarzan_

_(3) Beauty and the Beast- (I would think it's obvious)_

_(4) Minstrel Boy- Irish Folk Song_

_(5) Eileen Aroon- Irish Folk Song_

_**A/N: I think ladycorvidae and I have a bit of a shower thing and a bit of a song thing...you don't say? Haha, yeah. Coming up next, your daily dose of extreme angst...a special treat of Jim's side of Reichenbach, interspersed with Seb's reactions from the end of Chapter 5: Magpie in the original. Stay tuned, and leave comments!**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Here, have a daily dose of absolute angst. This is Jim's POV of the Fall and goes intertwined with Sebastian's POV from the parent fic at the end of Chapter 5: Magpie. Here we go.**_

Chapter 8: Permanent Destination

Jim felt the gun with the blanks go off with a loud -BANG-, half-deafening him. The blood packs burst with a splatter and he collapsed on his back on the roof of St. Bart's, eyes open in 'death'. He heard more than watched Sherlock make his final call and 'jump'...he knew that Sherly-boy had figured out a way to stay alive; after all, they _were_ the same person. He lay there, watching the sky, barely blinking, barely breathing, and then he heard footsteps come up the stairs to the roof. He would recognize that gait anywhere; Jim swallowed hard. Seb...his sweet Seb. Oh god, this was going to kill him, kill them both. He focused on making his breaths so shallow that they could barely be seen, squeezing down on the rubber balls under his arms to make the pulse at his wrists go dead. And now, to play the best game of possum the world had ever seen.

_... As soon as Sherlock was asphalt food, Seb packed up his gear and bolted for the roof, bursting out into the unforgiving sunlight to find..._

_"No."..._

Jim heard it, the soft breath of denial. _Oh God_..._Go away, go away, go _away_...forget me and go away. Forget me and live. Oh God, _Seb_._..he thought, his mind in despair as he saw his lover's face come into view, drained white with terror and grief.

_...There was too much blood, far too much, and Seb knew the man he loved was gone. He walked around the body, looking, trying to observe as Jim had tried to teach him but failing, hot tears threatening his eyes. He knew they'd be coming soon and now he had a corpse to take away. The thought was too much and he sank to his knees, sobbing silently. Jim, his boss, his lover, his master, his everything, the best part of him...gone..._

Jim could see Seb's feet walking around him, could see the tears in his eyes as he crossed his field of vision, staring blankly at the sky. And it hurt, it hurt so much when he heard his Tiger, the toughest man he knew, fall to his knees and choke with sobs. He wanted to get up. He wanted to smile and say "Just kidding!" But that would jeopardize his entire plan, would ruin everything that he had set in place. This would be the only time he had lied to his beloved Sebastian.

_..."No, you bastard, don't do this to me, please." He took Jim's wrist gently in his: no pulse. Seb lost control of himself, kissing the cold, bloodied lips and sobbing, whispering "No" over and over again..._

Jim would have bitten his tongue 'til it bled, but that would give him away. He felt Seb's hand on his wrist, finding that there was no pulse. And then Seb kissed him, whispering his denial over and over and over; it took everything in Jim's power not to wrap his arms around him, not to respond to the kiss, not to _cry_. _Go away go away go away...go before I fuck it all up and ruin what I've worked so hard for. God, I love you and I'm so _sorry...he thought desperately.

_..."Don't leave me, Jim. You can't leave me now. I love you. I fucking love you. I'm nothing anymore without you. Jim, dear God..."_

Jim felt his heart crack and split. Oh, _Sebby_. He damned himself for doing this to his lover, damned himself for causing him so much pain, but he had work to do, and he could only do it if the world thought him gone.

_...Seb reigned himself in long enough to gather the man in his arms and hug him close before laying him back to the roof and closing his eyes. "Requiem in pace, mi amor," he whispered, positive that he had botched the Latin and not caring. He left the roof..._

Jim remembered to be limp as, well, a corpse as Seb gathered him into his arms and held him close. He could smell his lover through the shallow breaths he was taking; gunpowder, metal, soap, the last time he would smell this scent for a very long time. Seb gently laid him on the roof and closed his eyes, telling him to rest in peace. And, _finally_, he left. Jim Moriarty was alone. It hit him then: he was _alone_, and he would be alone for a long, long time. A scalding tear leaked out of one closed eye and rolled, mixing with the blood on the rooftop. Taking a deep breath, James opened his eyes, sat up and left the roof, heart heavy and eyes dry. There would be time to mourn later. But for now...he had work to do.

_**A/N: There's nothing to say after that. Two more chapters to come. Read and review!**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: We had a few requests to explore Jim and Seb's time apart, so both ladycorvidae and I thought it would be cool to have two short POVs, one for each man halfway through Jim's absence/death. Contains violence and torture and blood and boatloads of angst.**_

Chapter 9: To Fill a Void

Eighteen months to the day (December 16th, 2013, London UK) and it was witch-tit cold. Sebastian Moran kept his head down as he trudged through the sludge-filled street, bending into the wind as oblivious people doing their Christmas shopping brushed past him. The gaping wound in his chest had scabbed over, but with enough prodding or one glance at the medallion he hadn't worn since _that_ day or fingers brushing over the burns on his ribs or the brand on his foot, the wound would reopen and he'd be engulfed in loneliness and despair, his only saving grace the thought of his next glass of Scotch. But he had to finish this hit first, before he could go back to the bottle; it was his first job in six months.

oOoOo

He ran. He had been running ever since he left Toum, owing a lot of money to a lot of people who were..._not very nice_ to put it mildly. He knew that they were out for him, and he didn't know when or where his end would meet him. So now here he was, wandering the streets of London, England. It was bitterly cold and he blew into his hands to warm them, chafing them then sticking them under his arms, cursing his lack of gloves and his lack of luck.

_There!_ Just for an instant, the ex-soldier caught sight of his mark, pure luck even though Moran no longer believed in it. Surreptitiously, he turned, following a safe distance behind as he sized up the man. Smaller than him, but most people were. Hat but no gloves, _hmmmm_, chapped hands would be very useful in torture. His employer wanted answers, and the sniper planned to deliver.

Tim stiffened; he could feel something ominous behind him. He turned, and there were Londoners and tourists and people laden down with food and parcels, others hailing cabs, and one other person who met his eyes for a split second. He took no chances and broke into a sprint, ducking down alleys and up side-streets, getting himself hopelessly lost, trying to shake the sudden fear that continued to only grow stronger.

_Aaaaaand he bolted_. "Fucking moron," Seb grumbled, chasing after him and slowly gaining on the man. He was disappointingly easy to herd as he got more and more lost, Seb managing to direct his efforts into a deserted dead end he knew well. Every now and again, the small man glanced behind and there was that man, following him. He quickly found himself in a dead-end alley, far away from anyone who would hear his screaming or the sound of a gunshot. He looked around frantically, searching for some place to hide, but it was useless; there was no cover, no shelter. He was trapped.

"Pathetic." The words were as icy as the water crystals in his blonde hair. Maybe he should have dried it before leaving the flat, not that he cared if he got sick anymore.

Tim fell to his knees. "Please..." he said, voice shaking. "Please, give me more time. Tell them that I'm working on getting the money, _please_ don't kill me..."

Seb's boot connected with the man's pink cheek, hurling him back against the wall. "You sniveling, groveling excuse of a human being. You expect _mercy_? Do you know who I am?"

Tim hit the wall, cheekbone shattered and bleeding from the blow. "S-Seb-" he said. He was trying to say 'Sebastian Moran', but his broken cheek was swelling and impeding his speech, along with his fear.

The sniper's heart stopped. He was on his knees in an instant, discarding the man's hat and dragging him up. _Short brown hair, pale skin, clear Irish brogue, smaller than him_. "Look at me," he snarled. "LOOK AT ME!"

Tim whimpered and did so, looking up into the man's snarling and strangely desperate face.

Blue. They were grey blue. The color shocked Sebastian from his nightmare as he hauled the man up and slammed him against the wall. "Where did you hide it all? Hmm? Very interested parties want to know, and it could even save your wretched excuse for a life." _No, it wouldn't._ "You better fucking tell me. You know my name, you know what I'm capable of." His mind and heart were reeling, his chest a gaping hole.

"Bank, Dublin. Strongbox number 46592. Please, Seb-" he gasped as the tall man slammed him into the unforgiving brick of the alley wall.

"Stop. Calling. Me. _That_!" It was too close to home, hurt too much, no one called him that, no one but..._him_. "That the only place?"

"That's the only place! I swear it!" Tim wailed.

Seb threw him back down the alley before retrieving his gun from the back of his trousers. Tim hit the icy, unforgiving pavement, skidding and skinning his face and hands raw on its surface. He managed to pull himself up on all fours and started crawling away...too late.

One shot, back of the head and the man was down, blood pooling around him..._lifeless brown eyes, cold, dead lips_... "STOP IT!" Seb roared, clutching his head, trying to shake the memories. He struggled to get his mobile from his pocket, sending the information to his employer before telling him exactly where the money should be left and when before he made his way to The Magpie's Nest.

oOoOo

Roland had been a bartender at The Magpie's Nest for nearly twenty years, and most of those had been working under the service of Jim Moriarty, the Consulting Criminal. He had seen many things, and wasn't surprised by much anymore. He saw Jim's right-hand man walk in, looking like shit. Well, former right-hand man ever since Jim had gone and eaten the barrel of a gun. "Hello, Colonel," Roland said. "Your usual?"

"In ten seconds or I'll be having one of your toes as a souvenir."

Roland snorted. "Already happened," he said, taking out tumbler and pouring a double measure of good Scotch into the glass for the sniper.

"I know. I'd be having another on off you," Seb growled, downing the burning liquid in a single gulp before slamming it back on the bar, signaling another.

Roland sighed. Since his employer was dead, he couldn't very well follow his orders to cut the man in front of him off after two double Scotches. He poured another double measure and slid it over.

"Thanks," the sniper replied, eyeing the barkeep. "What's that look for?"

"Seen your look before," said the barkeep, drying another glass.

"What look?"

"Like you've been scooped hollow on the inside and it's been stuffed into your skull."

Seb had to fight back the tears that threatened him on an almost regular basis now, choosing to drain his drink instead of let them spill. "Yeah, so, what of it?" he wheezed, the Scotch, as always, like fire down his gullet.

"Drinking isn't gonna help it."

"It'll sure as hell dull it."

"No, it won't. It'll just make it worse. Because your mind unlocks the memories. And you drink more to forget, and it just makes them come back clearer. It doesn't stop 'till you've gone mad, or you decide to off yourself. Or if you find something else to do."

"That what happened to you? Never did ask why Jim took your toes." Seb slid his glass back to the barkeep, a familiar haze beginning to settle over his mind.

"Lost my wife and two babes, a son and a daughter...Emily and Alex. Drunk driver got them when my Agatha was picking them up from nursery school. Found meself at the bottom of a bottle, like you are now, wishing to God that I had died instead. The bastard who did them in got the bare minimum. _Friends in high places_, he had. I called Jim, asked him to fix it for me and he did, for a price, of course. Wanted me to work for him. So I says yes, on one condition; I get to watch the light leave the eyes of the man who had taken everything from me. He agreed. I watched, and worked for him. The toes? Suffice to say that I said something he didn't like and he ran a switchblade through one set of 'em as punishment. Had to get them removed because of the damage." He poured the blonde his third drink.

Seb listened, swirling the liquor around in his glass and watching it absently. "And then you were here the night he picked me up," he said bitterly. "Wish I'd never started coming here-"

"Liar," Roland interrupted quietly.

"Says you," Seb bit back, eyes flashing as he looked at the balding, pudgy man.

"I know you're a liar because if you'd never met him, then you wouldn't have what I once had. Someone to love," the barkeep said.

Seb threw the glass to the floor, shattering it and splattering Scotch all over the floor and his jeans. "Don't you _dare_ say that. I'd rather be a drunken gutter rat than feel like this. I wish I'd never met him!"

"Still lying," murmured Roland.

Seb shot him his hardest glare, the pain in his chest almost too much to handle even with the Scotch in his system. "Give me the bottle," he said quietly.

"No. That'd be killing you. You want to do that, go get one yourself. I'm not going to watch you drink yourself to death in front of me," he said, stoic.

"Then pour me another round. That's an order."

Roland sighed. Since he was still working for the dead criminal (having never been given orders to stop), he had to obey the sniper. He did as he was told and poured him another drink.

oOoOo

It took several tries before Seb managed to fit the keys in the lock of the flat, banging the door against the wall as he stumbled into the place. He had yet to clean since Jim's death, most surfaces now blanketed by a nice layer of dust with, of course, the exceptions being the places where things had most recently been broken or torn apart. Slamming the door behind him, Seb made his way to their-_his_ room, feet dragging in the carpet, kicking up small puffs of dust and nearly sprawling on his face a half a dozen times. When he collapsed on their-godfuckingdamnit-_HIS_ bed, only then did the emptiness finally consume him. Barkeep was right. The drinks _were_ only making it worse, lowering his defenses until he couldn't breathe for the pain. Hot tears trailing down an equally hot face, Seb kicked off his shoes, looking around at the untouched dresser that used to be Jim's, where the only non-dusty spot was where he'd put the medallion the man had given him. He couldn't bear to wear it anymore; it was just too close to his heart...his heart the man had viciously crushed and made him eat when he'd eaten that bullet.

"FUCK YOU!" the sniper screamed, trying to throw a discarded shoe at the wall and missing and smashing it into the mirror above Jim's dresser instead. Instantly, horror and shock crossed his face as he scrambled over, tumbling onto the carpet as he tried to piece together one of the only reminders of Jim's existence. The glass was shattered beyond all repair, but a letter of all things had fallen out from behind it. Shaking, drunken fingers opened the paper as delicately as possible, wrinkling it but thankfully not tearing it.

_"I know you won't see this fucking thing, but after everything we've been through, I just want to say...well, I think you know. The monster and the drunken assassin, who would have thought, eh? The Fall is coming and I can't say goodbye. But fuck me if this doesn't fucking hurt. Catch you on the flipside, Tiger. Love, Jim."_

Seb sank back onto the bed as he read and reread it, the paper dotted with water as he cried, holding it close. It was Jim's hand and hidden behind glass, so who knows when he'd hidden it there or why...but he'd known. It just confirmed that he'd fucking known.

The sniper nearly ripped it to pieces, but his trembling hands clutched it to his chest as he curled up on the sheets, unable to bear looking up at the canopy. Sometimes he could manage it, but not when he felt like he was bleeding everywhere. The better part of him was gone. He wasn't snarky anymore, he was cruel. He was completely sadistic and he didn't feel like he had a heart.

He had turned into his boss. And he just wanted it to end.

oOoOo

Jim paced the small, dingy room he was in, adding another furrow to the already decaying carpet. He was stuck in some shit hotel in a town in No-Name in fucking _Hungary_, of all places. He was in-between meetings, having just come from one with the Lebovitch mob patriarch, and he was scheduled to have another with the head of Hungarian crime syndicate in about three more hours. The criminal found himself thinking of Seb...

He growled. He thought a lot about Seb now, especially when he was unoccupied wahich was more and more of his time as of late. And every thought he had _hurt_. Remembering their times spent together: _in the kitchen, laughing, watching movies curled up on the couch, making love like animals on their bed, torturing people to death, wearing matching feral grins._ All of that was gone now.

He swallowed hard. Jim would never say it aloud, but he missed his sniper. His Tiger. His lover. He missed Seb the way one missed an amputated limb; he was gone, but Jim could _swear_ he was still there on some days. And it just so happened that he would go and turn to say something cutting about his new allies to Seb...but he'd be alone.

Jim ran his hands through his hair and sat down on the bed, sighing. As much as he missed his lover, he couldn't get the image of his horrified and pained face after he saw him 'dead' on the roof of St. Bart's Hospital back in London. The consulting criminal closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He never wanted to see Seb look like that. And he realized, with growing horror, that he had broken his promise. He had lied to Seb. He had _sworn_ he never would, but he had gone and done it anyway. When he got back, he'd have to apologize to his sniper. When he got back, he'd make it up to him. _When he got back_...

"Fuck me for a fool," he whispered to himself, harsh and bitter. "Even if you _do_ get back, what makes you think that he'll still be there? What makes you think he'll take you back? He'll have moved on, found someone or something else. Or he'll be..." Here he swallowed hard and his voice became nearly inaudible, "_dead_." He shook his head. "No. I won't believe it," he growled. He knew that he was being childish, that it was foolish and painful and just _stupid_ to keep up this hope; this mad, fleeting hope that Seb was still alive and would take him back if he returned- _when _he returned. But this hope was, right now, all that he had.

"Open up, Moriarty."

Jim started, bristling and checking his watch. The crime syndicate wasn't due for another hour at least. He opened the door, facing the sallow, weasel-faced man.

"Hello. You're quite early," he said, being courteous. He hated to do it, but one didn't make alliances by being rude and standoffish.

"Business finished early, thought I'd pop by," the man replied, elbowing his way into the flat and wrinkling his nose. "How the mighty have fallen."

His hackles were raised now. _What a rude fuckass this man was_. "I was under the impression that we were here to discuss an alliance," he said, his words clipped, shutting the door.

"Well, if by you coming to work for me you mean an alliance, then yes."

Jim blinked. Then, he started to laugh. He couldn't help it. "Me? Work for you? Oh, that's rich," he finally said, contempt filling his voice.

"Yes, for me, seeing as I own half of Europe. Something funny there, Jimmy?"

Oh, wrong thing to say, weaselfuck. _Wrong_ thing to say. This tit had pressed one too many buttons. "Actually, yeah. I think it's _hilarious_ how you say you own half of Europe when you really are operating out of your uncle's old garage. It's your older brother who runs things, and you like to shoot your mouth off when he gives you the chance to go do things. This is your first real _big_ job, isn't it? The first big fish you have in your net. Well, you've landed a shark, and there's blood in the water," Jim said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing and opening his switchblade. It left his hand in a blur of silver and stuck hard into the wall with the man pinned through his shoulder, a red stain rapidly forming on the cloth of his cheap suit and the dingy wallpaper.

Weasel-face shrieked, his eyes wide as dinner plates as the small Irishman advanced on him. "What-what are you doing?"

"Sending a _message_," Jim said, keeping the man pinned and twisting the switchblade before removing it from his flesh. "Open wiiiiiide," he said, voice a sing-song as he forced the man's mouth open.

"N-No! STOP! LET ME GO!"

"Oops, too late!" Jim said, giggling. He slid the switchblade into one corner of the man's mouth and _yanked_, carving a thick red line through the flesh of his cheek all the way to his earlobe before moving around and doing the same to the opposite side. "Look at it this way; if you open your mouth any more, you can have people tell you if there's something stuck in your back teeth. Well, if you _had_ back teeth," he mused, admiring his handiwork over the shrill, garbled screams.

The pain was more intense than anything he'd experienced, his sallow face burning and twitching as he saw his blood pour down his shirt, splattering the other man. He knew he was screaming, even though he couldn't feel his throat anymore, blood hot and thick as it started to choke him.

Jim's eyes burned with an unholy light as he grinned. "I think you'll be a nice message to your _dear_ brother not to take me lightly now. And, to be honest, I'm doing him a favor...pruning the family tree," he said. He ripped the screaming man's shirt down the front, baring his torso and carving the words "YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED" across the quivering man's chest, before gutting him and letting his entrails pour out the new slit in his belly.

Weasel-face nearly passed out as the white hot blade carved him open before he saw his innards grace the room. More than he could handle and knowing he was already lost, the man collapsed in a pile of his own blood and bodily fluids as the last of the life drained from him.

Jim wiped the bloody knife on the sheets and changed his clothes, taking a shower to rinse the filth from him. As soon as he was done, he packed. "Pleasure doing business with you," he told the corpse in the room, grinning his death's-head grin before walking out, feeling much better.

_**A/N: Well, my co-writer does certainly like her blood. You've all been marvelously patient, and there is just one chapter to go, taking place after Jim's return, and after the closing of the parent fic. Read and Review!**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**HERE IT IS! The final chapter in out Watch the World Burn Verse. If you've made it this far, you are quite dedicated and we thank you profusely from the bottom of our hearts (ladycorvidae and myself).**_

Chapter 10: Trusting, Disbelieving, Clingy

They didn't get out of bed for two days, Seb sleeping more than he had in at least all of the last month put together and waking every time to Jim's face, smirking and beaming at him or pensive as he watched him sleep. Each time he hugged Jim around the middle, holding tight as if he were a child holding onto a parent, terrified that if he let go, the man would vanish. Yes, he was thrilled that Jim was back and safe, and each time they snogged or held each other or made love (and it was definitely making love), the little doubts would still, only to come back full force when they stopped, giving him the worst nightmares of his life. On the third day, Jim got a text.

_Glad you're back. Let's have dinner. -IA_

He smirked. The Woman. So she had survived this as well. He wasn't surprised, one of the reasons why he liked working with her. He bit his lip, though. He really didn't want to leave Seb, but business was business, and he had to settle back into London again. He gently shook Sebby awake; he wouldn't leave him while he was still asleep.

"_Lethimgo_-_lethimGO_!" Seb's eyes snapped open, fixing on the man above him. "You."

"Good morning, dear heart," he murmured, cupping Seb's face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs across the cheekbones. "I got a business call, so I'm going to be out for an hour or two. Don't wait up. If you want to keep sleeping, then keep sleeping."

"Don't leave." He couldn't stop the words as they tumbled out.

"I'm sorry, my love, I must," he said, a bit mournfully. "But only for a little while. Then I'll be back. I swear it."

Seb looked at him hard. "O-okay."

Jim rose and dressed, getting into his usual Westwood, though the suit hung loose on his skeletal frame. "You have my number. Text me if anything happens."

"Will do," Seb replied, pulling the covers back up and trembling slightly. He could still smell Jim under the covers which helped slightly, but it also served to remind him that he was gone again.

"I love you, Tiger," Jim whispered, pressing a kiss to the feathered tufts of blonde hair that stuck out from under the blankets. Now: off to meet The Woman.

oOoOo

Adler was looking well when they met at the restaurant. She was clearly finding it no problem to continue on with her work.

"Mr. Moriarty, how nice to see you alive and well."

"Miss Adler, the feeling is mutual," he drawled. "Been keeping yourself busy, I take it? Being dead is hard work, after all."

"Oh yes, but I'm managing it _just_ fine. Still misbehaving in fact," she simpered, gesturing to the empty chair across from her. Jim sneered and sat. "Of course. Like I'd expect anything less from a professional dominatrix."

She smirked. "Welcome back, Jim," she purred, waving the waiter over. "I'll have a dirty martini, and Jim here will have..." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Scotch. On the rocks," he said.

"Right away, sir, madam."

"How boring," Jim said as he watched the waiter walk away; he had already figured out the man via is fingernails and cufflinks.

"I see you haven't changed in the slightest. Well, you could do with a bit of fattening up. Maybe even some..._dinner_."

Jim wrinkled his nose. "Spare me your seductions, Adler. You know I'm spoken for," he said, ice creeping into his voice.

"Oooh, still very touchy. You did used to love to have your way with me when the mood struck."

"Yes, well, a lot has changed in three years. You know that as well as I do."

"Indeed it has. I've been keeping track of the rumors. You've been _very_ busy for a dead man."

"Have to keep my empire running smoothly. A king never sleeps, you know," he said, waving his hand in a regal fashion, sniggering.

The waiter brought their drinks before taking their dinner orders: salad for Irene and steak for Jim. The dominatrix watched Jim carefully over her drink. "Your subordinate attempted to find me while you were gone."

"Oh?" _So the Tiger had gone looking for the Woman. Intriguing._

"He never found me of course, but my sources kept me well informed. He was drunk and stinking of Scotch is what they told me, calling for me down an alley before collapsing in a puddle in the gutter, didn't return to his flat for several days. Seemed to think I could help find you or at least tell him if you were really gone."

Jim nearly flinched. _Nearly_. He couldn't show any weakness in front of her; she'd eat him alive. "Really," he said, retaining his poise, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. Such an adorable little pet you have. Sickeningly loyal."

"Well, as I told our _dear_ Sherlock, I should get me a live-in one. And I did. And it's worked out wonderfully," he said, taking care not to bristle at how she was talking about Seb.

She snorted. "An alcohol-soaked muscleman? Even you can do better."

"Oh, Adler. Remember how I said I'd turn you into shoes? That still _stands_. So keep. Your Mouth. Shut." he hissed, finally unable to bear it any longer.

"Very well," she said, smirking over her glass as the waiter brought their food. "I suppose I can. If you insist."

"Oh, but I do."

Still smirking, Irene began to eat, watching the criminal closely over her food. "So, you survived. Blanks and blood packs I would assume? Oh, but of course, only the simplest to make it all seem so complex. "

Jim merely nodded. He was beginning to wonder exactly _why_ he liked working with her now; she was decidedly getting on his nerves today.

"I have something I think you will like, Jim."

"Oh? And what would _you_ have that could possibly interest _me_?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Pictures, information, all safe with me of course, but I am in need of some protection."

He rolled his eyes. This game. Again. "And why should I _care_?"

"Because every single one has to do with your sniper."

Jim's gaze got very, very cold, very quickly. "You'll be wanting to think of your next words _carefully_, Adler," he said, his voice soft.

"And why is that? Don't forget, Jim, that you came to the place of my choosing, not yours." Her gaze grew cold.

"Fine. What do you need?" he asked. The sooner he got her out of his hair and the information and pictures, the better.

"Simple. I need to disappear."

He imagined him smiling and assenting, right before pulling out a small caliber pistol and making her 'disappear' permanently with a bullet lodged in her skull. "For how long and to where?"

"India, I think. Somewhere out of Europe and certainly not America."

"I hear Madagascar is _lovely_ this time of year," he said sarcastically.

"Don't mock me, Jim. Would you like to see this? It's very...ah..._flattering_." Pressing a few buttons, Irene selected a picture and held it up for the criminal to see.

Jim scowled as she showed him a picture of Seb, clearly worse for the drink, getting sick in a gutter. "I will help you, then you will give me all of the pictures and information pertaining to him. The originals, the copies, _everything_." he said.

"You know I don't make copies, sweetie," she said, flicking through to another one from the bar. Another picture, Seb getting tossed out of the bar and landing on his face in the snow. "Right. So, India it is, then. I'll have the papers made up, the passport and the fake ID. If you want funding, you're on your own," he said shortly.

"Thanks _ever_ so much darling," Irene simpered, leaving cash on the table as she rose. "Ta."

"Ah, ah, ah, my dear Miss Adler..." he said as she rose. "Pictures and info first."

"I'll have it sent to you," she replied coolly, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. "Now, run along."

"Miss Adler," he said as he turned to go, bristling from her treatment of him, "I would advise being careful in India. Tigers tend to abound there and other beasts of a less-than-savory nature. Now, off you trot, m'dear...wouldn't want you to forget your impressive _collection_ in your haste to pack."

"If you're threatening me, Jim, I really would advise against it. You may have spent three years bringing your empire back under your thumb, but I have the power in this situation. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Me? Threaten you? _Perish_ the thought. I was merely stating my concern," he said as he walked off. Of course he was threatening her; with any luck, the silly bint would get stepped on by an elephant and cease to be a disturbance to him.

"You might not want to leave your man alone for long. He's _quite_ unstable," she called after him.

Jim casually kept walking and seemed, for all intents and purposes, to ignore her, but what she had said rankled. He took out his phone and nearly dropped it in his shock. He had fifty missed calls and eighty-nine text messages. All from Seb.

_Miss you-SM_

_Nightmare-SM_

_You aren't gone. You aren't gone. -SM_

_Please, just send me something. -SM_

_I dreamt it all-SM_

_Fuck me-SM_

_Just, I can't do this-SM_

_Jim, please. -SM_

_Something? Anything?-SM_

_You're ringing out-SM_

_Of course you are. It's all a dream-SM_

_Jim, please-SM_

_Now I just sound needy-SM_

_Wouldn't want a needy Sniper, now would you?-SM_

_Of course not, you're dead-SM_

_Broke you word-SM_

_You lied to me-SM_

_I can't sleep-SM_

_It smells like you here-SM_

_Why does it smell like you? SM_

_Magpie.../please/-SM_

Jim closed his eyes and put his phone away. He all but ran to his car and snarled at the driver to go as fast as he could without them getting caught. He was home at the flat in a matter of minutes, bursting through the door and making his way to the bedroom. "Seb? Sebby!" he called as soon as he set foot in the flat. Maybe he would come out if he called...

Seb was curled up underneath the blankets, cradling his gun to his chest. He heard the voice but chose to ignore it. "Another bad dream..."

Jim found his sniper curled up under the covers. He yanked them away. "Seb, I'm home," he said.

Seb started, the gun pointed at Jim faster than he could breathe. Jim held out his hands and took a step back. "Now now, Tiger...it's a sin to kill a songbird," he said coolly.

Seb's hands were shaking, his eyes wide. "_Jim,_" he breathed, still holding tight to the gun but lowering it slightly.

"Hiii," he said, in his sarcastic sing-song voice, wiggling his fingers in a wave. "Told you I'd be out for a few hours, remember?"

"N-not really." The sniper felt his eyes burn and he felt weak, stupid. Setting the gun down, he curled back up under the covers, trying to hide.

"Oooh, poor Sebby...come to Daddy," he said, sitting on the bed and prodding gently at the lump that was his lover.

"N-no...you'll disappear again."

"If you touch me, you'll know it's real."

"No, I won't."

"Oh? And why is that?" Jim said, leaning down closer.

"Because I'm dreaming. And I can always feel you in the dream. It's when I'm awake that I can't."

Jim scowled. "Hold that thought," he said. He went to the kitchen and filled a bucket that was under the sink with cold water. Then he lugged it back into the room and dumped it unceremoniously over the blanket-covered sniper.

"See? You're _awake_."

Seb shrieked, struggling out of the soaking bedclothes. "THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?" he roared.

"Hi. Told you I'm real," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Seb was shaking as he looked at Jim warily. "That hasn't happened before."

"No shit. You're _awake_, Tiger. We spent the last 2 days in bed, and I had business that I had to attend to," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he remembered his meeting with Adler. Seb started to reach out for Jim but pulled his hand back. "I really thought I was dreaming...or dead."

"Well, you're neither," said Jim, reaching out and taking Seb's hand, clasping it tightly. The sniper nearly cried out at Jim's touch; it didn't hurt per se, but some part of him felt like he'd been burned.

"C'mon now...let's get you out of those things. Nothing looks so pathetic as a wet cat," Jim said, smirking a little.

"Not pathetic," Seb mumbled, shedding his clothes and following Jim. Jim was going to say something about the fifty missed calls and eighty-nine texts, but wisely decided to hold his tongue.

"Sorry about your phone...guess you got those then. Well, yeah, dream would get them-"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got them. Here, have a look-see," he said, tossing his phone to the sniper, who nearly dropped it. Seb fumbled the mobile, eyes widening as he scrolled through the messages. He sank to the floor, resting against their bed. "Wake up...wake up..." he whispered, curling up again.

Jim was rapidly losing his patience. "Dammit, Seb, you _are_ awake! What do I have to do to prove it to you that I'm here and that you're awake and neither of us are dead?" he shouted, exasperated.

"YOU THINK I KNOW?" the sniper yelled back, tears finally breaking from his eyes. "IF I KNEW, I'D FUCKING DO IT!"

He snaked out a hand and slapped him, backhanded, across the face, his ring catching Seb's lip and tearing the flesh. "THERE. Does that prove it? Is that enough?" Jim asked, anger starting to churn inside him. Seb lifted his fingers to his bleeding lip, anger coursing through him as he launched himself at Jim, punching him hard in the face.

Seb managed to land one hit on him before he ducked and wove away, trying to staunch the blood that now poured from his nose. The sniper threw himself at the smaller man, attempting to tackle him and got a mouthful of rug and dust for his effort

"Oh, Tiger, you've gotten _slow_," Jim taunted as he watched Seb get a face full of carpet. He aimed a well-placed kick at Seb's ribs, not hitting him too hard. After all, he wanted to wake up, so he would wake him _up_, goddammit.

Wheezing, Seb crawled on all fours until he was at Jim's feet before grabbing the man's ankles and yanking him to the floor. Jim's breath left him as his back hit the floor. Growling, he raised his foot again and kicked _hard_, catching the sniper in the shoulder before rolling away and righting himself.

"OI! GET BACK HERE!" Seb threw himself at Jim, catching his foot and pulling him back off balance. Jim stumbled but caught himself, wrenching his ankle out of Seb's grasp and bringing his heel down on the sniper's wrist. Seb _howled_, freezing where he was as his wrist burned with pain.

"NOW do you see that you're awake, you great stupid fuck?" Jim roared, panting, blood still dripping from his nose.

Seb glared at him through hot tears, his breathing coming in gasps. "_No_," he hissed defiantly. Believing this was real just meant that he had gone through three years of hell, three years of being a failure to the man standing above him, and he didn't want to face that. Jim knelt and grabbed the sniper's chin with one hand, gripping it cruelly tight. He could see the doubt and the pain and the..._failure_, the defeat in his lover's eyes. "This. Is. Real. And you did _not_ fail me," he hissed.

"I c-couldn't protect you...I _promised_..."

"You _did_ protect me. You _still_ protect me. I'm here, Tiger. I'm here."

"You were dead. I saw it! I failed...you wanted the best and I'm not-"

"SHUT UP AND LISTEN! I _fooled_ you. I _had_ to. And it damn near killed me to. I wanted to bring you in on the plan, but I couldn't. I spent three years crawling the underbelly of Europe to get the empire strong enough, to make my way back to you. And you are the best. You are _still_ the best. You shall _always_ be the best. The best sniper, the best bodyguard, the best lover, the best of _me_."

The shocked silence didn't last long as Seb collapsed in tears, in hot anger that he'd bottled up for three very long years. His lip was bleeding, his wrist and ribs hurt, and here was his boss, crouching by his stupid, thick skull. He didn't deserve the man, couldn't fathom why he'd come back. This man who kept saying that drunkard Sebastian Moran was the best. "I sp-spent most of m-my time drunk...or murdering people."

"Back to the days before I found you, huh," Jim said quietly, sitting next to his lover and hauling him into his lap, stroking his fingers through his hair the way he used to. "Well, I'm _back,_ and we have work to catch up on."

Seb trembled, the hands in his hair melting the tension from his body. He'd forgotten he was naked until now. "Yeah...old habits and all...haven't cleaned the place in ages and broke most of your things...the mirror too."

"Things are replaceable. _You_ are not. And since you broke the mirror, you found the note. I figured you would do that. Break things, I mean."

"You wanted me to...that note was like a knife all over again, Boss."

"I'm..." he took a breath and let it out. The words were _still_ so hard to say. "I'm sorry, my love."

Seb pressed closer, soaking Jim's suit with salty tears. "I'm broken..." he whispered, fingers clutching as expensive fabric.

"And I will try to fix you," he murmured into his lover's hair, pressing a kiss to his scalp. (1)

Seb gave a weak, very wet snort. "Coldplay? Really?"

"Oh shut it. I wasn't trying to quote song lyrics at you. This isn't a bad 80's film," Jim quipped with no real heat.

"No, if it were, you'd have a lawn mower and a boom box," Seb replied, giggling hysterically to himself.

Jim snorted. "Do I really look that trite? I'd be much more...impressive."

"Like what?"

"Fireworks and severed hands," he said, smirking. "Still holding a boom-box."

The sniper almost smiled. "How am I gonna be able to work for you if I can't even function with you out of my sight?"

"Well, I could always take you with me. 'Take your pet to work day', every day," he sniggered.

"That'd get boring for you."

"Oh, I don't know... maybe. Maybe not. What, should I record my voice into something to help you rest easier?"

Seb stared up at him. It seemed so childish but...it might help. "You'd-you'd do that?" There was _no_ way...

Jim made a bit of a face. "Well, I _was_ joking, but if it'll help...then for you, yes, I will."

Seb threw his arms around Jim's middle, squeezing tight and kissing his abdomen through his suit. Jim wheezed as Seb crushed the air out of him. "Okay. Let me go work on it," he said hoarsely. "And you should go put on some clothes. I need to ah...stem the faucet," he said, indicating to his still-bleeding nose.

"Why hasn't that clotted yet?" Seb's brow furrowed, releasing Jim and getting up slowly.

"Pre-existing medical condition, the only thing my mother gave me aside from my name and my damnably short stature," he said, scowling.

Seb scrambled to his dresser, yanking out the first black outfit he found and tugging it on, grabbing shoes before gently gathering Jim into his arms. "What can I do? How can I help? Do you need a doctor?"

"Put me _down_, you git! I'll be fine, it'll just take a while," Jim scolded lightly. Seb really didn't want to.

"Fine. If you won't put me down, then at least go sit on the couch. There you can cradle me to your heart's content..."

"What do you need to help the blood though?"

"Just get me a cloth. It'll subside on its own. And I take coagulants on a regular basis. Hemophilia is a tricky disease."

Grabbing a cloth from the closet, Seb carried Jim to the remains of the den, broken DVDs and a shattered flat screen looming at them on the mostly intact sofa, the back gouged deeply in several places from a very sharp knife. Jim blinked. "Holy Shit. Why leave the sofa mostly intact, though?"

"Bad memories." _Calling Jim a monster, nearly losing him forever, drunken stupors_.

"Ah. I see. Well, as soon as this stops, we're cleaning. Excuse me; _you're_ cleaning. I have more work to do. Don't worry, I'm not leaving the flat for it," Jim said, reassuring his lover as he saw a look of panic ignite in the sniper's eyes.

"_I'm_ cleaning?"

"Yes. _You_ are cleaning."

"The place is a fucking disaster-"

"And you need to pick up the pieces, as it were. Call it a meditative action."

"What about the shit that's broken beyond repair? God, I'm gonna get asthma from all the dust."

"There are masks in the bathroom under the sink. The broken things we can get more of. After all, money is no object."

Seb thought about all the liquor he'd bought over the last few years. "You might wanna check that. I've been pretty liberal with the cash."

"Silly Tiger; do you think that I gave you access to _my_ accounts? Your spending money may be almost gone, but I've been careful with mine."

Seb hugged him closer, rocking him as the stupid Disney lullaby floated through his head, making him cry again. "Such a f-fucking cryb-baby," he grumbled.

"Shhhh, sh-sh-sh-sh...it's all right," Jim crooned, running his fingers through the blonde hair of his better half once more. Seb looked down at him, at the cloth slowly turning red at his nose. "How'd you not b-bleed out f-from your month with M-Mycroft?"

"Very carefully hidden. And, well, abroad, I wasn't able to take my medicine for a while," Jim mumbled. Seb held him to his chest, kissing the smaller man's forehead. "You're really lucky."

Jim grinned crookedly. "Luck of the Devil, me," he said.

"Mmmm, my Devil."

This made him laugh. "Always."

"Always."

_**And there you have it. A Boss and his Sniper reunited at last. R&R if you please, and feel free to look up my other works. My AO3 invite should be here ANY DAY at which time EVERYTHING will move over to it, and anything new will be posted there. Thank you so much for reading!**_


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